


Picking Up The Pieces

by CaptainWeasley



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Post-Canon, Slow Burn, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-04
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-19 23:32:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 27
Words: 35,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7382002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaptainWeasley/pseuds/CaptainWeasley
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>"I'm here," she whispered, again and again, her voice shaking, "I'm here, I'm here."</i>
</p>
<p>After the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina is devastated. She only has one friend who truly understands her: George. But after a while, she realises that what she feels for George is much more than just friendship...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> It took me almost two years to write this fic, and I really hope I did the story and the characters justice. The world of Harry Potter means so much to me, and I am so glad that I can contribute to the Harry Potter universe in some very small way.  
> I hope I managed to portray Angelina's and George's trauma and PTSD believably, and I tried not to fall into the "true love cures all" trap. However, in this case true love still helps a bunch, so the story is not necessarily completely realistic. I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

In the Battle of Hogwarts, Angelina had seen people killed right in front of her, others tortured and maimed; she had seen grieving friends, mothers crying over the bodies of their children and the other way around, survivors clinging to each other in agony.

She wanted to forget it all, forget the pain and the tears, the sound of violence and the smell of death. She wanted to forget the body of the red-haired boy lying on the floor of the Great Hall, surrounded by his family. Her red-haired boy who would never joke again, never smile at her again. Her stomach felt ice-cold. She wanted to forget it all.

It was cowardly, and she knew it—maybe the hat had made a mistake when it had sorted her into Gryffindor all those years ago. She hadn't shied away from fighting, but she was shying away from her own feelings now. She wanted to bury the memories deep inside herself, even considered placing a Memory Charm on herself on one of the many nights she was lying in bed, shivering despite her several warm blankets, unable to sleep. She was disgusted with herself, with her desire for an easy way out. She'd always been so strong, and now? Now she couldn't even look at herself in the mirror some days.

During the days, she drowned herself in work. Her Quidditch team held training sessions five times a week, but she was on the pitch every day, trying to make herself move on, trying to stop remembering. Sometimes it worked and she fell into bed as soon as she came home, utterly exhausted. Other times she came home with tears in her eyes which didn't blur the images of her red-haired boy she kept seeing, and unable to sleep at all. On those days she used firewhiskey to numb her thoughts.

She had danced with him at the Yule Ball. They had both been sixteen then, young and care-free, not even seriously considering that they could be having feelings for each other. It was fun, and he had been an expert when it came to fun—a sob escaped her at that thought. That his life had ended like that, on a battlefield, it wasn't right. The world was wrong, so very wrong, had it always been like that? Had the world already been wrong when they made out in the deserted classroom she remembered so well, that evening after the Ball? Or had she just been too blind to see life for what it truly was? Life was cruel, she knew that now, cruel and ironic, but everything had seemed so bright when she had been sixteen. The way he had kissed her—not very experienced, perhaps, but his confidence had made up for that. There had been a kind of seriousness to it, subtle but unmistakable. She had never asked him if that had been his first kiss.

The days went by and Angelina had the strange feeling that time had lost its meaning. Waking up, Quidditch pitch, going to sleep. Every day, over and over. Sometimes there was firewhiskey, other times an owl from Alicia or Katie. She hadn't visited them. Nobody tried to visit her any more, she had made it clear to everyone that she didn't want to see them. She convinced herself she liked it better that way, but sometimes, lying in her bed, staring out the window into the endless black of night, she wondered if life was still meaningful like this. Everything seemed so distant. Even Quidditch... She was still flying very well, of course, but something was missing. She just barely remembered that feeling she'd had in her stomach before matches at Hogwarts. The excitement, her beating heart, her passion and joy. She couldn't feel any of those now. If there was a match, there was a match. If there wasn't there wasn't. Winning and losing had become so inconsequential. There had been a time when she had loved her broom dearly, when her fingers had prickled every time she touched it; when her heart had been racing those first seconds after she got into the air, and nothing could compare to the feeling of freedom. She wondered if she would ever feel like that again.

They had stolen away sometimes, her red-haired boy and her, to make out in empty rooms and deserted corridors. It had always felt so light, they had never quite made a habit or a standing appointment out of it. He had insisted that that would stand in the way of fun, and she had found it exciting. Sometimes they had met before the Room of Requirement and he had thought up the most ridiculous things for the room to turn into. He had told her of his and his brother's plan to leave the school, and when they met in the Room for the last time a few days afterwards, she told him she wanted more than just kisses. It had been strange and gentle and less awkward than she'd imagined due to his ability to joke about anything. According to the conversations of the girls in her dormitory, most people didn't have half as much fun the first time they had sex.

They had snuck back into the Gryffindor common room afterwards, holding hands on the whole way back, and he had kissed her before climbing through the portrait hole. Not much had changed, but he had seemed more sincere in that moment, so serious, like he wanted her to know how much that evening meant to him.

Sometimes Angelina was amazed she even bothered to buy food. Deep inside her there seemed to be a part of her that didn't want to starve, and just as well. She ate and drank and did her laundry and washed her dishes. She sometimes remembered to water the potted plant her father had given her. She became quite good at cleaning spells, so that her flat looked sparkling clean every time she bothered to use them. She didn't stop taking care of herself, but while she used to enjoy playing around with make-up and trying new hair styles, brushing her hair was now a chore, using eyeliner a routine. Everything seemed so cold, so empty. Outside her window the leaves on the trees were turning red and yellow, the wind on the pitch was cold and relentless, but she hardly took any notice.

After she'd made it into the Appleby Arrows' reserve team and gotten her own flat, she had gone to Diagon Alley in order to shop for home supplies and furniture. There had been banners everywhere with Ministry warnings on them, the faces of Death Eaters snarling at her as she walked past them. Only one shop had defied the trend, and she couldn't help but smile as she'd entered. It had been loud and bright and light-hearted and so much like _him_. She hadn't seen her red-haired boy at first, there had been so many customers. She had marvelled at many of the inventions displayed on the shelves; she had always known that he and his twin were creative, just not on that kind of scale. Just when she had been standing in front of a shelf full of _Bedazzling Brooms—Eat one and start hovering!_ there had been a hand on her shoulder, and a melodic voice, and a smile on his face, the widest smile.

The storms got worse and the training harder. Angelina was glad of it, coming home freezing and exhausted meant that she didn't have a lot of time or energy to think about the past. During the training sessions themselves she said very little. Even though before the Battle Angelina used to be assertive and sometimes downright rude, none of her teammates found anything odd about her new-found reclusive behaviour. Many of them had lost loved ones at the hands of the Death Eaters, and all of them had developed their own coping methods in order to get by. Gabby hadn't talked to anyone for two whole months, her daughter had been killed in the Battle of Hogwarts. Harrison was still carrying a bottle of vodka with him wherever he went, his sister and her family had been brutally murdered after Voldemort had taken over the Ministry. William had long scars on his wrists, he had been forced to watch his Muggle parents being tortured for fun and had been sent to Azkaban afterwards on account of being Muggleborn. All things considered, she had been lucky, Angelina thought. Neither herself nor her family had been harmed.

She had invited him to her flat not long after their meeting in his shop. Angelina had told the mirror to behave himself but even so he had yelled "Iron your clothes, you smelly git!" as soon as he saw her visitor. Her red-haired boy had found it hilarious. He had brought her a red rose and a box full of Bedazzling Brooms. They had taken a walk in the nearby park and talked and laughed, and then she'd taken him to her bed and he had kissed her and caressed her and made her moan and scream, and she had dozed off in his arms afterwards. It had all felt so easy back then. There had been no confessions, no promises or commitments, just two friends having fun. It had seemed so harmless. Now she saw his broken body in her dreams, woke up with the sound of the battlefield in her ears. In those moments she was sure that she would never be able to smile again.

Alicia was standing at her door one day, two bottles of butterbeer in her hands. She was smiling but her eyes were sad and her cheeks were hollow. They sat before Angelina's fireplace and listened to the howling wind outside, a comforting silence between them. Angelina found that she had missed this—the presence of a friend who didn't expect her to be something she wasn't, who accepted that the war had changed her.

"You were in love with him, weren't you?"

Such a simple question, yet she couldn't answer. She didn't want to think about him, didn't want to think about all that could have been and would never be. Alicia's warm hand was pressing into her shoulder; a moment later Angelina found herself in her friend's arms, tears spilling out of her eyes, a lump of ice where her stomach used to be. Her hands were clinging to her friend's robes and Alicia was patting her head.

Back then, Angelina had never seen it as love, her and her red-haired boy had never called it love. Maybe they had been wrong, she thought as she sobbed into Alicia's shoulder. Maybe it had been love.

He had come by one rainy afternoon in March, telling her that he and his brother were about to go into hiding. There had been a feeling of dread in her stomach then, a strange sense of foreboding; knowing that the Death Eaters considered the Weasleys blood traitors and would love to have a reason to hunt them down. He had promised her that they would be careful, and for once he hadn't had a smile on his lips. She had hugged him as tightly as she could, wishing he could stay with her, wishing the world were different, not even daring to think about the future.

"Don't worry," he had said, his smile back on his face. "Nothing will happen to us."


	2. Christmas

Angelina had promised her father she'd come round for Christmas, and maybe it was good that she had a reason to finally leave her flat for something other than Quidditch practice. She hadn't seen her family in almost half a year now, somehow she hadn't felt able to face them. She wasn't sure what the matter was with her, she had always been on good terms with her family.

She saw them in her dreams sometimes: her mother screaming as she was tortured by Death Eaters, her sister being hit by a flash of green light and falling to the floor, her father crying over her dead body. Sometimes it was the other way around.

Maybe she wanted to remember them the way they'd been before the war, maybe she didn't want to fuel her nightmares in any way by seeing how the war had changed them. Or maybe she couldn't face them because she herself had changed—because she had seen people murdered right in front of her, because she felt like she had lost some integral part of her own nature. Gone were her passion and resolve, in their place there was an all-consuming emptiness that was numbing her senses.

But she had promised she would spend Christmas with them, and so she was determined to at least avoid turning up empty-handed. One Monday shortly before Christmas the Arrows weren't practising, and instead of going to the Quidditch pitch anyway as she had taken to doing, she was getting ready to do some Christmas shopping. She dreaded going to Diagon Alley, that was where _his_ shop was, now one brother short. She bit her lip. She couldn't avoid the place forever. It had been a few months now, she had to face reality. She took a deep breath and threw a handful of Floo powder into her fireplace. _I am a Gryffindor_ , she told herself as she was stepping into the flames. _I can do this. I am a Gryffindor and I won't be afraid._

Not much had changed, she thought as she stepped out into the sunlit street behind the brick wall. Everything looked just like it had before the Death Eaters had taken over the country. Or did it? Angelina wasn't quite sure, she hadn't been to Diagon Alley in over a year. The shops were open, their windows full of all kinds of goods, her fellow shoppers seemed happy and relaxed. Life went on, the world kept spinning regardless of how much she might wish she could turn back time. Only half a year ago most of the shops here had been closed, boarded up, some of their owners carried off to be tortured or killed. The surviving shop owners were back now, having redecorated their premises, ordered new wares and plastered smiles on their faces again. There was a new wand-shop where Ollivander's had been, a café in the place of Florean Fortescue's ice-cream parlour, and a few other minor changes. It felt just like old times, and yet it also felt painfully wrong, maybe precicely because so little had changed. There were no reminders of the war, in fact, it almost seemed like the war had never happened. _This is wrong, this is wrong, this is wrong_ , a voice inside Angelina's head kept telling her, and she closed her eyes for a few seconds, trying to calm herself down.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

It kind of worked, to Angelina's great relief. When she opened her eyes again, the sight of the street was just bearable. These people were trying to get on with their lives, of course they wouldn't want to keep being reminded of the war. She wasn't the only one who had suffered, after all. 

As she made her way down the busy street, Angelina's heart began pounding rapidly for a whole different reason: only one more corner and she would see _his_ shop—she came to a halt in front of Flourish and Blotts, feinting interest in their selection of books on Christmas Charms that was on display in one of their windows. She could still turn back, she didn't have to make herself face it, she could return another time... Angelina hated these cowardly thoughts, hated that she wanted to give into them, hated her urge to turn back, go home, crawl into her bed and cry. Before the war she had never felt like this, before the war she had never been a coward. She had been strong and full of passion; she had been magnificent. And now—she wasn't sure who she was now. Now, she dreaded the mornings and the nights, she dreaded waking up as much as falling asleep. When she was asleep there were nightmares, and when she woke up her whole existence felt meaningless and painful.

She straightened. _You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart_. She wiped her eyes on her sleeve, then set off towards the joke shop she had known so well, once upon a time. She had had half a year to deal with her pain, hadn't she? Angelina's hands were clenched into fists inside the pockets of her robe, all her tension seemed to be converging in them. Thankfully, there were no fresh tears in her eyes when she walked around the corner; however, she felt oddly weak, like there wasn't enough blood inside her veins. Her arms were shaking slightly, her nails were digging into her palms.

The shop looked as bright and busy as ever, and for a moment she had the urge to run away and hide. But she had come this far, and she would not give in to fear now. For it was fear that was telling her to run, fear of her memories and her nightmares and her emotions. She had come this far, and she would prove that she was stronger than her fear. And with that thought, she stepped inside the shop.

There were as many customers as ever, laughing and talking loudly, assistants in magenta-coloured robes among them, answering questions on products and restocking shelves. None of them had red hair.

Angelina felt calm, much calmer than she had expected. The shop even smelled the way she remembered, and suddenly her whole body was tensing up again and her eyes were smarting. Deep breaths, deep breaths. 

She had to find a quiet spot. The last time she'd been here there'd been a second room in the back, maybe there weren't as many customers back there as in the front. Deep breaths, deep breaths, one foot after the other. Her whole body was rigid, her hands still curled into fists. Then she walked through the door and found herself in a mercifully quiet room. Sighing, she leaned against the wall. Maybe this had been a bad idea after all, maybe she should have waited another six months before coming back here... She closed her eyes for a moment. She would be strong now, Angelina told herself, she could do this, she had no business having a breakdown _here_ of all places.

When she opened her eyes again, George was standing in front of her.

He looked distinctly different from the way she remembered him. One of his ears was missing, there was no carefree grin on his face, and the way he carried himself reminded her of somebody weighed down by an overwhelming burden. He didn't look at all like the red-haired boy she had lost, yet there were traces of him on his face still. 

For some reason, it made her furious. There was an ugly thought on the forefront of her mind, a thought that she tried to suppress but that kept coming to the surface, torturing her. Why was he still here, and his brother gone? What had he ever done to deserve to live? What had her red-haired boy ever done to deserve to die?

George was staring at her, quite incredulously, like she was the last person he had expected to stand in the back of his shop. And she probably was. She took a breath to steady herself, deeply ashamed of her irrational anger at him and yet unable to completely suppress it.

"Hi."

He nodded slightly.

"Hi."

Her mind was blank. There was nothing she could say. She couldn't talk about the red-haired boy they had both lost, she couldn't say his name, couldn't even think it. She could have made an excuse for not coming to see him earlier, but she had never been one for polite lies, and the truth did not make for light conversation.

"I should—I have to go."

She wasn't looking at him as she spoke, instead she was focusing on a shelf full of hats on the other side of the room. She turned around, wanting nothing but to flee; her insides were burning with shame. She had been friends with George for years and now she couldn't even look him in the eye. She hated this person she had become, this person who inhabited her body and was nothing like herself. 

She barely heard him say her name, she was already all but storming through the crowd, desperately needing to reach the door, to escape. 


	3. Letters

Angelina was sitting at home the next evening, a quill and a roll of parchment before her. She was determined to write to George, but she wasn't sure what she could possibly say. The truth was painful and she didn't want to put it into writing. She also didn't want to pretend that everything was fine, when he knew that everything was wrong. She hated pleasantries and lies, but to explain her feelings—it was too early, they hardly knew each other any more.

In the end, her letter was surprisingly short considering how much time it had taken her to write it.

_Dear George,_   
_I'm sorry about yesterday. I thought I was ready to face the past, apparently I was wrong. I hope we can be friends again someday._   
_Merry Christmas._   
_Angelina_

She reread the letter a few times and considered rewriting it, making it less vague, but in the end she rolled it up and tied it to the leg of her barn owl, Gwenog, who had spent the better part of the year chasing mice and sleeping in her cage. George would understand, and he wouldn't judge her. At least she hoped he wouldn't.

As Gwenog took off into the night, Angelina went to bed and tried to sleep. She kept seeing George's face, kept hearing him say her name as she stormed out of his store, and guilt welled up inside her. She should have tried harder. Instead, she had run away, hidden, she wasn't worthy to be called a Gryffindor. What must George think of her! She buried her face in her pillow and tried to think about something—anything—else, but her mind kept spinning around these words: what must George think of her.

When Angelina came home from Quidditch practice the next evening, Gwenog was sitting on the window sill, a small roll of parchment tied to her leg. Angelina opened the window and Gwenog fluttered inside, hooting tiredly. The letter she carried looked a bit like the one she had written—maybe George had sent it back, unopened? Her heart skipped a beat. Maybe she had ruined everything with her cowardice, maybe he wanted nothing to do with her anymore... Her hands were shaking slightly as she unfastened the parchment and unrolled it. Then she saw his handwriting and shook her head at herself. This was ridiculous. When had she become like this? She sighed. She knew when.

The letter itself was even shorter than the one she'd sent to him and just about as vague.

_I understand. Maybe next time we should meet somewhere else._   
_Merry Christmas to you, too._   
_George_


	4. Silence

One freezing afternoon in January, Angelina was standing on the main street of Hogsmeade, waiting. She still wasn't quite sure how it had happened, but one short letter had lead to another and now there she was. She had warned him that he shouldn't expect too much, maybe it would be too overwhelming for her—to see that face, to hear that voice. In his reply he hadn't sounded even remotely surprised, and ever since she had been wondering whether other people had the same reaction to seeing him. Did people regularly avert their eyes when talking to him? Did they avoid talking to him altogether so they didn't have to hear his voice? Did his siblings flee the room as soon as he entered? She felt even more guilty at those thoughts. Was that what everyone saw in him now, the brother they so dearly missed? She should have been there for him, but she hadn't, she couldn't. She should have been stronger, she should have tried harder, she should have had the strength to at least look into his eyes, but she hadn't.

George Apparated about 30 feet away from her. He saw her, and for a moment, his mouth was curved into what might have resembled a half-smile if his eyes hadn't been so empty. She forced herself to look at him this time. It wasn't as painful as it had been in his shop, but it was still far from easy. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. 

They took a few steps towards each other, then—following a sudden impulse—Angelina pulled George into a tight hug. 

"I—I am so—" _sorry_ , was what she wanted to say, but the word seemed to be stuck in her throat.

She felt him nod against her head, and for a moment he tightened the embrace. Then the moment was over, and they let go of each other. Angelina felt more than a little awkward now, and she could feel herself blushing. At least he couldn't see that, she thought, thankful for her dark skin.

"So, um, the Three Broomsticks?"

George nodded, and together they set off. The wind was ice-cold and Angelina buried her face in her scarf, casting sideways glances at George when she thought he wasn't looking. He really did look a changed man, she mused; this was not the George she'd known at Hogwarts. His eyes looked as though they belonged to an older man, like he had aged several years during the past months. 

They entered the Three Broomsticks together. The room was wonderfully warm, and only a few tables were occupied. They made their way to a quiet spot in the back and took off their scarves and cloaks.

"I'll get us drinks, what would you like?"

"A firewhiskey would be nice, thanks." 

She tried to smile but her muscles wouldn't obey. She abandoned the attempt and sat down. Maybe this had been a horribly stupid idea, maybe they ought to have waited... But how long did they have to wait for the scars to heal? Months? Years? Decades?

They could at least try, that was all one could ever do, really. They could try here and now, and if this turned out to be a desaster, they could try again another time. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

George soon returned to the table, carrying two firewhiskeys. 

"I've never known you to drink the strong stuff," he noted as he handed her one of the glasses.

"I've gotten used to it," she mumbled without thinking.

"You too, huh?"

There was a moment of silence. Angelina didn't know why she hadn't expected something like this, feeling both foolish and awkward suddenly. And not only that: they were dangerously close to the one topic she didn't feel like she could stand discussing.

"Let's... let's not talk about all that, okay?"

George stared at his drink thoughtfully for a moment, then looked up at her again.

"What else is there to talk about?"

She swallowed, hard.

"I don't know how." She was whispering now. "I can't even—I can't even think his name. I don't know how." 

She kept staring at a burn mark in the tablecloth stubbornly, trying to shut out everything else, but her eyes were smarting nonetheless. 

"Let's just sit here—just be here together and not talk about anything, okay?"

She looked up again and saw him nod.

"Okay."

He took her hand, and she clung to it as though her life depended on it.

She had always thought that hand-holding was romantic, but she had been wrong. This had nothing to do with romance, this was rather the opposite, this was two people holding fast to a life-line. His fingers were closed as tightly around hers as her fingers were around his. She had never held onto anyone so desperately in her life. Somehow it was easier to breathe now. She wiped the tears off her face with her free hand, then took a big gulp of firewhiskey. 

He was right, they needed to talk about it, but not now. Not today. Never today. Angelina wasn't ready to face any of it. For now it had to be enough to sit at this table, holding hands. And maybe, just maybe, they would be able to talk, one day. 

Angelina wasn't sure where that feeling of hope had suddenly come from; she wasn't used to hope any more. Everything about this situation was confusing. She wanted to talk to him but couldn't, she didn't want to hope but was unable to shake the feeling.

They finished their drinks slowly, neither speaking another word, both dreading the moment they would have to let go.

Much later, they were standing in the relentless wind outside, ready to Disapparate back into their daily lives.

"I'm free next Tuesday," she said quietly.

He nodded.

"See you on Tuesday."


	5. Painting

George had written her another letter and suggested they meet somewhere more quiet than Hogsmeade, saying he knew a good place to take a walk. They had agreed to meet on the street next to the Shrieking Shack, from where they would Disapparate together.

Much to her own surprise, Angelina was running late on Tuesday. It was her day off and she had nothing else planned, yet somehow everything was taking longer than she expected it to. She deemed her hair too messy, but couldn't get it to look nice. She changed her robes three times before she was satisfied she had picked the right ones, even though she knew she probably wouldn't even take off her cloak, seeing as they just wanted to take a walk, and George wouldn't see her robes anyway. There was the hint of a feeling inside her—something she hadn't felt for a long time: excitement. She had no time to ponder this unexpected and completely unreasonable ( _honestly, she had known George for years!_ ) turn of events, however: she should have been in Hogsmeade five minutes ago. Angelina put on her woollen hat and scarf hastily, then turned on the spot and found herself facing the Shrieking Shack a few unpleasant seconds later. However often she Apparated, she would never get used to the feeling of suffocation it gave her.

George was already there, waiting for her, leaning on the fence in front of the Shrieking Shack. His posture felt slightly familiar, but back in the day it used to be accompanied by a wide grin, an excess of imperturbability and an air of invincibility. Now, he looked like a shadow of his former self, a shadow that didn't quite know what to do with himself.

"Sorry I'm late," she said, feeling somewhat stupid for having wasted her time worrying about inconsequentialities.

"'S okay," he said. "Come on."

He held out his hand to her, and she took it, wondering where he was about to take her. Her question was answered in a matter of seconds: he turned, pulling her with him, and they found themselves on a path next to a small river, snow falling from the white clouds above them. There were hills on both sides of the river whose forests seemed to be completely deserted. It was one of the most peaceful places Angelina had ever been.

"Wow," she breathed, stunned, "Where are we?"

He glanced at her before answering the question, and for a moment he looked as though he wanted to laugh but had forgotten how to.

"I don't know, actually." He started walking alongside the river, tugging her along with him. He hadn't let go of her hand, and Angelina was glad of it. "A few months ago, I was looking for a place to, well, come to terms with—with everything. I just Apparated around the country at random, and after a while I found this place."

Thick snowflakes were falling all around them, slowly turning their surroundings white.

"It's beautiful."

Angelina didn't quite know what else to say, she felt like she had walked into a perfect painting and was disturbing it just by being there.

"Yeah," George said, almost reverently. "You're actually the first person I've taken here."

It sounded like an afterthought, but it made her stop in her tracks. Did that mean that he had spent all those months alone, that she was the first one to have reached out to him? Or was there some other reason? Her guilt was everywhere: in the big lump in her throat, in her shaking knees, in the pain in her stomach. Why hadn't she gone to see him sooner?

"Why me?"

He looked into her eyes.

"You're the only one who—I mean I... I know what you meant to him. I just... Nobody else can really understand what it's like. Well, Ginny can, kind of, but she's at Hogwarts, so..."

He seemed so be having trouble choosing the right words. She thought she understood what he wanted to tell her, but she had a hard time believing it.

"But what about the rest of your family? What about Lee?" She was almost whispering now, her innards a mass of icy needles that had nothing to do with the cold weather around her.

"My family, they don't—I mean, they've still got one of us left, haven't they? I don't think they ever really saw us as two seperate people... Merlin, _I_ never saw us as two seperate people. Even our mother..." For a moment, he couldn't go on. "I think they don't really know what to make of the situation, with me still being around. They miss him, I know they do, but they never learned to see him as a whole person. I think, on some level, they figure they've only lost one part of a whole. As long as I'm around, he won't really be gone for them." There was a definite note of contempt in his voice, and he swallowed hard before he continued, speaking more evenly. "Ginny's different, but like I said, she's at Hogwarts. And I can't talk to Lee about this. Doesn't feel right."

George paused for a moment, looking at her.

"It's different with you, though, because you and him—you know. I suppose that's why it took such a long time for you to come see me, while everyone else moved on so quickly..."

The bitterness in had made its way back into his words, and Angelina nodded, miserably. The two of them started walking again. Angelina's thoughts were spinning. The twins had always done everything together, had never been seen without each other, really. Now that she thought about it, she was probably the only one who had met up with one of them alone on a semi-regular basis, the only person who'd had feelings for one that she didn't have for the other.

"George, I—I'm really... I should have..."

Words could not express how sorry she was, how much she wished she had done things differently, how she wanted to turn back time and change it, change it all. Deep inside her she knew that even if she could somehow relive the past, however, it would always be like this. She could not have gone to see him any sooner than she had. Angelina hated herself for that, hated her weakness, hated her pain.

For a moment, she had the feeling he would slip his hand out of hers, but instead he squeezed it more tightly.

"'S okay," he said the second time that day. "I understand."

Strangely enough, she felt both the urge to pull him into a tight hug and the urge to run away and hide in shame at the same time. Her lip was trembling.

They walked in silence for a while then, still holding hands, watching the world around them slowly turning white, snow crunching under the soles of their shoes. The sounds of the river were soothing, the sky was slowly getting darker. With somebody else it might have been awkward, but with George the silence felt almost relaxing. There was a kind of unspoken understanding between them: they would talk about it all, when they were ready. When that would be, there was no way of knowing, but Angelina thought that maybe that was enough for her. Maybe it was enough to know that they accepted each other as they were now, that their hands were joined and that they had time to come to terms with everything that had happened. She just hoped it was enough for George, too.

But he was still holding her hand, was he not? He was still beside her, when he could have Disapparated at any point. He was still there even though it would have been perfectly understandable if he was disappointed in her, if he wanted nothing more to do with her. But however improbable it seemed to Angelina, the reality was that he was still there.

When the sky was so dark that they could barely see anything without their wands, George suggested they return to their respective homes. It was a curious sensation to let go of his hand, Angelina had gotten quite used to feeling it inside of her own. They looked at each other for a long moment, then Angelina found herself in George's arms, her face pressed into his shoulder.

"I'm so, so sorry," she mumbled, finally able to say it. "I am so sorry."


	6. Climate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On the Herbology page of the Harry Potter Wiki it says that George has an OWL in Herbology, however, on George's page it says that he got his three OWLs in Transfiguration, Charms and DADA. Since I can't remember George's NEWT subjects beside DADA ever being mentioned in the books, I'm going to go with DADA, Transfiguration and Herbology for the purposes of this fanfic.

During the following weeks, Angelina found that her meetings with George brought a sense of purpose back into her life, something which she hadn't felt in months. She suddenly found she could pay attention to details again, details she had deemed unimportant for a long time now. She started choosing her robes more carefully, even started playing around with her hair again some days. During one Quidditch training session she actually felt excited when she managed to pull off a flawless Porskoff Ploy.

It felt like there was colour dripping back into her life, like breathing was suddenly easier. One evening late in January, she found herself writing a letter to Alicia and Katie, asking them if maybe they wanted to meet her at the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer the next week.

She wasn't quite sure what it was about those meetings with George that seemed to be at the heart of this new development. They usually spent large portions of their time together in silence, holding hands more often than not. It had become something of a ritual between them, a way to remind each other that they were not alone in their pain, that there was someone who was able to understand. They would meet up twice a week next to a weathered tree stump by the nameless river, they would nod at each other in silence, unsmiling, join hands and start walking along the path next to the water. There were small differences in their surroundings each time they were there, the beautiful snow of early January vanishing soon enough to be replaced by icy winds.

One especially cold Sunday afternoon, after meeting in their usual place, George suggested they go somewhere else, and Angelina agreed at once, her ears were already freezing despite her woollen hat. George gave her his hand, and a few seconds later, they were standing in front of a moderately-sized greenhouse surrounded by rolling hills.

"Where are we?"

"Cotswold Hills. This is our greenhouse. Well, my greenhouse."

There was a short, awkward pause. Angelina felt as though she'd been punched in the stomach. For a tiny moment, his expression was just as painful, but he schooled his features quickly. 

"I didn't know you had a greenhouse."

George shrugged.

"We set it up just before we had to go into hiding. Luckily, the Death Eaters either never found it or they didn't care. There are some valuable plants in there."

He unlocked the greenhouse door with a tap of his wand, and the two of them stepped into its warm interior.

The greenhouse was much larger on the inside than it was on the outside, and looked to be in much better shape. Angelina assumed that the modest exterior was supposed to keep Muggles uninterested.

Angelina hadn't taken Herbology in sixth and seventh year, but she recognized a few of the plants from her earlier Hogwarts lessons: rows of Mandrakes, Venomous Tentaculas, Puffapods, Bubotuber plants, Fanged Geranium. Most of the other plants looked either dangerous or conspicuously unremarkable, and if Angelina had learned anything during her time at Hogwarts, it was that she had to be especially careful of those.

George handed her a pair of dragon-hide gloves and a watering can. 

"The plants in the front are all harmless, more or less. Don't put too much water on the Mandrakes, they're prone to throwing tantrums if they feel mistreated."

They started working, Angelina watering the plants in the front carefully, while George inspected those in the back, mumbling spells from time to time. It was oddly calming, quite different from their walks together, but not any less enjoyable.

When they were finished, George sat down on a lawn chair outside the greenhouse, and Angelina conjured up a chair for herself as well.

"How often do you come here?"

"Depends on the state of the plants. Some months I need to check on them everyday, but at the moment I just come here twice a week, to see if they're all happy, renew the climate charms, you know."

The sun had almost set, its light still weak this time of January, bathing the hills before them in an eerie twilight.

"I like it. Which is weird, I always hated Herbology so much."

George looked over at her.

"It _is_ weird... Considering the Cabbage Incident didn't just happen in one of my stranger dreams."

Angelina groaned.

"Don't remind me. And you're one to talk, Mr. Teapot!"

It was George's turn to groan.

"That was one time!"

They looked at each other and Angelina started laughing, much to her own shock and surprise. It was a quiet laugh and over quickly, but still—how long had it been since she'd last laughed?

She swallowed.

"I haven't actually... talked to a lot of people since, you know. Maybe I should change that. Doesn't seem to be that bad, does it?"

He looked at her a moment.

"Depends on the people, I'd say... I wish I could talk to Ginny. We used to come here together last summer, before she went back to Hogwarts. We put silencing charms on each other and tried to scream loud enough to break the spell. Never worked. Her spellwork's too good."

Angelina wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

"Did it help?"

George sighed.

"I don't know. 'T was the best thing we could think of apart from smashing Mum's china, and even I am not that reckless."


	7. Promise

In the beginning of February, on a Friday full of rain and sleet, Angelina was on her way to meet Katie and Alicia. Angelina was surprised how much she was looking forward to seeing her friends again; only now did she realise how dearly she'd been missing them.

The inside of the Three Broomsticks was loud and full of people this time, luckily Alicia and Katie were already there, Katie sitting at a table with a half-empty Gillywater in front of her, Alicia just returning from the bar, two tankards of warm Butterbeer in her hands. Katie grinned up at the other two. Smiling back at her, Alicia sat down next to her, handing one of the tankards to Angelina.

"You already started drinking without us?" Alicia asked in mock outrage, just as Angelina pulled up a chair next to them. "Shame on you, Katie."

Katie winked at her.

"Well, I might have had a date here until a few minutes ago."

Alicia raised her eyebrows and leaned towards Katie, visibly excited to hear the full story. Even Angelina was intrigued.

"You know that boy who was in my year at Hogwarts, Billy?"

The two of them nodded.

"Well, he sent me a letter last week, out of the blue, asking me if I wanted to meet him, and I said yes." Katie was grinning even more widely now than before, and Alicia was sitting at the very front of her chair, eager to hear more. Angelina took a sip of her butterbeer and found that she had missed this, too. It reminded her of times past, when the three of them had come here, full of life and hope, not a care in the world.

"So, how did it go?" Alicia asked excitedly.

"Well, he's a lot better looking now than he used to be, and he's a great fan of the Holyhead Harpies, so we thought maybe we could watch their next match together."

Katie and Alicia were grinning, and even Angelina started to smile a little. Her friends' happiness was contagious; it felt like something wonderful out of a distant dream that she only now started to remember.

The three of them discussed Billy for a while, although Angelina preferred to mostly listen to her friends' conversation. After a while Katie turned towards Alicia.

"So, what about you, had any dates recently?"

Alicia shook her head sadly.

"I met that Muggle girl from the grocery store a few times, but nothing really came of it." She shrugged. "How about you, Angelina?"

Angelina was taken by surprise, for some reason she hadn't expected the question. She hadn't even looked at guys during those past months, much less considered going on dates. There was really only one person at all whom she was even speaking to outside of work, apart from the odd letter to her family and the two girls sitting across from her.

"I've been meeting George a couple of times, but that's not... I mean, not in that way."

Her friends looked at each other, then at her.

"George? George _Weasley_?"

Alicia was gaping at her.

"After what happened with—with _his brother_?" Angelina was grateful Alicia hadn't used his name; she didn't know if she could stand hearing it, and this was not the time to dissolve into tears.

"I told you, it's not what you think. We just go on walks and hold hands, you know?"

Katie had evidently forgotten to close her mouth; so intently was she staring at Angelina that she looked like the victim of Petrificus Totalus. Alicia, however, was frowning, with an expression that looked a lot like concern on her face.

"Um, Angelina... You do know that holding hands is usually a sign of, well—"

She made an undefinable gesture with her own hands, apparently unsure how to put her thoughts into words.

"I told you, it's not like that. We're just trying to be there for each other. It's just—knowing that there's someone who understands... Like the colours are coming back. You know what I mean?"

Alicia looked at her, more worried than before, but Katie nodded slightly.

"I think I do. It helps when you're not alone."

Katie looked at Angelina seriously, and Angelina thought of one of Katie's letters. She had said much the same in it.

"And you told me so ages ago. You were right." She took a deep breath. "Sorry for not coming to see the two of you earlier."

Katie shook her head.

"Don't apologise for doing things in your own time. Just be careful with George, okay?"

There was a moment of silence, then Alicia spoke, her voice full of concern.

"Katie's right. You need to be careful. We don't want you to go through all of this pain again."

She didn't have to go into more detail for Angelina to know what they meant: it would be all too easy to make George a substitute for the red-haired boy she had lost, to deal with her feelings by not dealing with them at all. It would be unfair to George if she were to use him so, to see in him what everyone else was seeing: the remaining part of his brother.

"I'll be careful. I promise."


	8. Sleep

George was sitting on Angelina's sofa, barely a week later, writing numbers into a huge black book, an empty cup on the table before him. 

He had written her a letter two days beforehand, stating he couldn't make their usual time because he needed to catch up on some urgent book-keeping for his shop. In her reply she had pointed out that he could also do that at her place if he wanted. George had arrived with the large book in his arms at half past eight, and Angelina had made two cups of tea.

Now George was adding numbers together, occasionally mumbling under his breath, while Angelina was reading the latest issue of the Daily Prophet.

She was exhausted from Quidditch practice, and thanks to the soft light of the candles, the dull article she was reading, the scratching of George's quill and his steady breathing she was soon starting to feel sleepy.

She turned a page; but this one was as dull as the one before it. There was a huge advertisement for something called _Auntie Ann's Amazing Sheen—Keeps Your Household Fresh and Clean!_ , and it was hard to even keep her eyes open. 

For a moment, Angelina dozed off, head sinking onto George's shoulder, then she jolted awake, righting herself.

"Merlin, I'm so tired..."

"You want me to leave?"

She shook her head, that was the last thing she wanted.

"No, don't, it's so nice with you here." 

She turned to him just in time to see a curious expression on his face: it almost looked like a smile, or at least it was the closest to a smile she had seen on his face so far. He continued writing numbers into his book, and she knew she had to keep talking if she wanted to stay awake.

"Why, d'you want to leave? I mean, I don't want to make you stay if you..." Her voice drifted off, not really sure where she was even going with this.

"No, I don't want to leave."

She liked listening to his voice, she decided, as she closed her eyes, her head leaning against the backrest of the couch.

"Why?"

There was a moment of silence as he pondered her question.

"There aren't any memories here."

Suddenly, her stomach was burning. She shouldn't have asked, shouldn't have reminded him.

"Oh," she mumbled, not knowing what to say, looking at him apologetically.

"Don't worry about it, I've kind of gotten used to it. Him following me everywhere. It used to be the other way around, most of the time." He sounded more nostalgic than sad, almost like he wanted to laugh but had forgotten how to do it, and Angelina wished she knew what to say.

"I'm, I mean I'm here, if you—well, I'm here."

She hated her inability to put her feelings into words, hated that she couldn't think of anything to say to make it all better.

"I know. Thanks."

He said it earnestly, looking directly at her. There was a look in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. Her first thought was that it resembled awe, but that couldn't be right. She was probably so tired she was imagining things.

"Tell me something," she mumbled after a few moments of silence.

"Like what?"

She shrugged, her eyes already closing again.

"I don't know. What you're thinking about, just anything."

She could hear the scratching of his quill for a few moments before he put it on the table before them, together with his book.

"It's different with you. My family... I always get the feeling they're pushing me to move on. Like I can just snap my fingers and make it all go away."

Her hand found his, almost automatically; holding his hand had already become so normal in the short time they'd spent together, she didn't even have to think about it.

"It's not like anybody ever says anything, but I know they're disappointed in me. It would be easier for them, I think, if I was more like before. It wouldn't be so bad if I was still myself."

He was silent for a while, and this time, she had no trouble at all staying awake.

"Maybe they really did lose both of us that day."

Her eyes snapped open.

"No, they didn't."

He looked at her, surprised.

"You're still you. What happened changed you, and it changed me, but we're still us. Just different versions of us."

He shook his head slightly.

"But—I don't know if I can ever be like that again, like him, like _myself_..."

"Then be different. It doesn't matter. You're still you."

He raised his eyebrows.

"You're not making any sense."

For some strange reason that made her laugh, and suddenly she felt tired again.

"Yeah. Maybe. I mean, no. It's possible I will never the same as I was at Hogwarts, maybe the pain and the nightmares will never go away, but I won't give up. I'm Angelina Johnson and I won't give up. Now you say it."

"I'm Angelina Johnson and I won't give up."

She broke into a fit of undignified giggles, and there was that almost-smile on his face again as he watched her.

"See, that's what I mean. You're still you, no matter how much life changes you."

There was a curious expression on his face now, almost shocked; happy and sad at the same time. She wasn't sure if she was supposed to be worried.

"Hey, everything okay?"

He nodded slowly.

"Yeah, I just—I don't think I've made a joke in—"

He didn't finish the sentence, and she squeezed his hand in hers.

Something had changed between them just now, she could feel it, even if she couldn't explain it. Like there was some kind of bond between them, an inexplicable trust. 

Her eyelids became heavy again, and she almost didn't notice him letting go of her hand and taking his book and quill once more. She shouldn't fall asleep, but she was just so tired...

Angelina felt someone shaking her arm gently.

"Hey, Angelina. Wake up!"

It was George's voice, very close to her ear... because her head was lying on his shoulder. She sat up straight, looking around. The candles had almost burned down. She must have fallen asleep on his shoulder a while ago, how embarrassing!

"S'ry," she mumbled, "Didn't mean to fall asleep."

She looked at him, and once again he looked like he wanted to smile, but had lost the ability to control the muscles beneath his face; the smile that had once been on his lips so readily now elusive.

"Don't worry about it, that way I got all the book-keeping done. And besides, you're—" He stopped mid-sentence, his eyebrows furrowing for a moment, then he shook his head. "Never mind."

"I'm what?"

"Much too curious for your own good." His voice didn't give anything away, but Angelina knew him well enough to know that he'd let slip something he rather he hadn't and was trying to mask it. Well, maybe that method worked on Ron, but it sure didn't work on her. Suddenly she didn't feel that tired any more.

"Damn right I am. Come on, tell me."

She could see he wished he hadn't said anything, his facial expression too adorable for his own good.

" _Come on_ , it can't be that bad."

He rolled his eyes, then he gave up. Now that she looked at him, he seemed to be tired as well. 

"You're cute when you're sleeping. Happy?"

A grin spread over her face, and he tried to look like he was suffering a painful death, but wasn't quite pulling it off.

"And you're cute when you're embarrassed," she told him, still grinning. 

_Don't worry, Alicia_ , she thought. _This is what friends do, right? Tell each other they're cute. Yep, definitely a thing that friends do._


	9. Quidditch

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, of course there has to be a Quidditch chapter. If you are confused by the different players, there's a list of names in the end notes. And I promise you I did not make up the cabbage thing, you can read up on that on [this page of the Harry Potter wiki](http://harrypotter.wikia.com/wiki/British_and_Irish_Quidditch_League).

They were sitting on her sofa once again, something Angelina hoped would become one of their habits. This time, George was taking a personality test in the Quibbler ("What kind of ghost will you become?"), and she was reading _Flying Like You're on the National Team: 5 Easy Steps to Improve Your Technique_. Harrison had all but forced the team to read the book, pestering them endlessly about how amazing it was for a solid week before everyone had given in. Angelina, on the other hand, was not very impressed so far. 

She looked over at George. He was on question four, _Which of these rocks do you feel the closest connection to: a) Granite b) Marble c) Slate d) Obsidian e) Sandstone?_

"You think I'm more of a marble or an obsidian kind of guy?"

"Marble," Angelina said instantly. "Oh, by the way, I've got a match on Sunday, the Arrows versus Pride of Portree. I thought maybe you'd like to come and watch?"

"'Course I'll come, what time's the match?"

A small smile was tugging at her lips, she hadn't even realised how much she wanted him to say yes.

Angelina could feel stabs of excitement during the days leading up to the game, they had made their way back into her life during the past weeks. She remembered how she hadn't been able to feel anything for most of the previous year, and every flutter of her nerves, every tingling in her fingers, every jolt in her heart contributed to the overwhelming feeling of being alive that was slowly coming back to her. She was breathing and walking and flying, her heart beating, deep breaths, deep breaths. She could feel it in her fingertips, in her stomach, in the soles of her feet. She was alive, her will to live had come back to her, existing was no longer simply a chore.

Angelina doubted she would ever be able to go back to being the person she'd been a year ago; she felt like every cell in her body was changed. But she wasn't just drifting any more, the emptiness vast inside her. She finally felt like she was moving towards something again, towards life, towards feeling, towards hope. 

And she wanted to win the upcoming match. She hadn't cared about Quidditch in a long time, hadn't cared about winning and losing, had practised simply in order to have something to do, to distract herself, to keep herself from going insane.

On the eve of the match her stomach was actually fluttering, and she couldn't help but grin. To be excited again, after so many months of apathy, it was exhilerating. She was walking around her flat, thinking of strategies the team had discussed and moves they had practised. She felt hope—actual, _real_ hope—of winning, how long had it been since she had last hoped? The feeling was like a half-forgotten dream, familiar and yet strange, old and new, something out of another life and at the same time right here inside her. 

Before she fell asleep, her last thought was of George, and his hand around hers, and the way he almost smiled at her sometimes.

The stands were full of people, the outcome of the Arrows vs the Prides match would decide which team would get to compete against the Tutshill Tornados in May. 

Angelina pulled on her Quidditch robes, their pale blue contrasting spectacularly with her dark skin. 

"Okay, team," Gemma shouted when they were all dressed and ready to go. "This is the day all of our hard training will finally pay off! Today we're going to win against those Prides for the first time in four years! Can we do this?"

They all shouted, "Yeah!", and Angelina actually meant it.

She hadn't been in many actual matches with the Arrows, seeing as she was only a member of the reserve team, and she found she couldn't remember many details about those games. She had been on the Quidditch pitch day after day for months on end, and in retrospect it all kind of blended together: months on her broomstick, months in all kinds of weather, months of playing with and without an audience. 

"And here come the Appleby Arrows," the commentator shouted, a blonde woman in her thirties. "Mulgrew, Zhang, Johnson, McAvoy, Chopra, Harington and Cotton! Two of them were on the reserve team until the beetroot incident last week, and I for one am not convinced that a certain rival team wasn't involved there, but—"

She was interrupted by loud booing from the Prides fans. Privately, Angelina thought she had a point. Nobody had been able to prove anything so far, but cheating wasn't exactly unusual when it came to Quidditch.

There wasn't much time to consider the matter, though. The referee was already opening the crate and the four balls shot into the air. He blew his whistle once, and Angelina concentrated on the Quaffle.

Gemma tried to catch it as soon as it was in the air, but one of the Prides' Chasers beat her to it. Angelina tried to pay attention to the commentary while speeding after the man.

"Prides in possession, and Tyler passes to Tokita, the newest addition to the Prides' team, and this woman can fly!"

Angelina had to agree with her, unfortunately. A bludger zoomed past her, right towards Tokita, but the young woman managed to avoid it with a flawless Sloth Grip Roll. Angelina couldn't help but be impressed.

"Tokita still has the Quaffle, heading for the Arrows goalpost, McAvoy tries to—and she scores! Prides lead by ten points to zero!"

Angelina bit her lip in frustration. They weren't even two minutes into the game yet and the Prides were already ahead of them.

Harrison passed the Quaffle to her and Angelina sped towards the opposite side of the pitch. Smith tried to intercept her and Angelina pretended to dart upwards, then dropped the Quaffle to Gemma.

"Zhang heading for goal and... fantastic save by Roberts!"

The Prides fans were screaming in delight.

"Prides in possession, Tyler with the Quaffle, and he's intercepted by Johnson, who was on the reserve team until last week and is currently the youngest Arrows team member! I guess we'll see if she can hold her own..."

A Bludger wooshed past Angelina's right elbow, closely followed by Will, who was apparently aiming at Tokita. Determined, Angelina increased her speed, heading towards the Prides goalpost. Roberts was one of the best Keepers in the league, but Angelina was suddenly convinced that she could get the Quaffle past him. She feinted aiming at the right hoop, then threw the Quaffle towards the middle one.

"Johnson scores! Ten-ten, and Prides in possession again..."

The game got faster now, and after a while it became apparent that the two teams were quite evenly matched. The Prides were a bit more efficient, and Tokita's technique was truly spectacular, but they were never leading by more than ten or twenty points. After the Prides' first goal, Gabby had made some amazing saves. 

After about half an hour everybody knew that the outcome of the match remained solely in the hands of the Seekers, and as the players grew more frustrated, the game started to get more dirty.

"Foul!" cried the commentator, "Lloyd hits Cotton with his bat, not very clever but all the more effective, his arm seems broken."

The referee whistled for time out, and the Arrows grouped around Gregory on the ground, together with two mediwizards.

"You need to catch that Snitch," Gemma told Greg seriously while his arm was being patched up. "Before they can foul you again. Nice work so far, everyone, and don't let yourselves be provoked! I want us to play a clean game, unless McBride gets too close to the Snitch. Understood?"

Everybody nodded, and soon they were in the air again.

"Penalty to the Arrows for deliberate damage to their Seeker!" the referee announced, and Harrison shot towards the Prides goalpost.

"Mulgrew scores! Seventy-seventy! Arrows in possession again, Zhang passes to Johnson, who's almost hit by a Bludger, very precise work by Ali, she passes back to Zhang and—that is the Snitch!"

Angelina had to resist the urge to turn around to find out what was happening on the other side of the pitch, Gemma was being tailed by Smith and Tokita, and would pass the Quaffle back to her any second now.

The audience were perfectly silent, as well as the commentator, all watching the race between Gregory Cotton and Dougal McBride, and when even Smith turned his head, Gemma used the opportunity to throw the Quaffle to Angelina. She sped towards the Prides goalpost. Suddenly half the crowd started cheering.

"Cotton catches the Snitch, and the Arrows beat the Prides for the first time in four years! What a game!"

Angelina turned her broom around to speed towards Gregory, who was holding the Snitch over his head, but before any of the team members reached him, McBride had drawn his wand and jinxed Greg. Angelina watched in horror and fascination as Greg's head turned into a cabbage. The referee was shouting at McBride furiously while a mediwitch hastened towards Greg. The crowd was screaming, the Prides fans obviously gleeful, the Arrows supporters in rage.

"Cotton hit me with a Jelly-Fingers-Curse! He deserved to be cabbaged!" McBride said loudly.

Angelina didn't really listen as the Prides' captain, Roberts, intervened: the mediwitch had turned Greg back to normal, and was now asking him basic questions.

"Will he be alright?"

Gemma sounded deeply concerned.

"I think so," said the witch. "We'll take him to St. Mungo's for further testing, but he doesn't seem to be suffering from memory loss, that's always a good sign."

The team were unusually grave after their victory.

"Well, we're still having a party tonight," Gemma announced, pulling herself together. "We won!"

They won. They _won_. Angelina couldn't quite believe it. Emotions were swirling inside her. Pride. Happiness. A growing sense of fear as the realised that it still felt different than winning a match at Hogwarts; fear that no matter what she did, what she accomplished or how much time passed, she really and truly would never be the same, that she would never be able to go back to that life.

She suddenly remembered what she'd said the last time she had thought about this: _I'm Angelina Johnson and I won't give up._ It had seemed so easy to say in that moment, but right now she thought it sounded nothing but foolish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, here are the names of the different players again (only Gregory Cotton and Dougal McBride are canon, the rest were named by me):
> 
> The Appleby Arrows:  
> Chasers: Harrison Mulgrew, Gemma Zhang, Angelina Johnson (reserve for Ann Gleeson)  
> Keeper: Gabriela "Gabby" McAvoy  
> Beaters: William "Will" Chopra, John Harrington  
> Seeker: Gregory "Greg" Cotton
> 
> Pride of Portree: (I was too lazy to give them first names)  
> Chasers: Smith, Tokita, Tyler  
> Keeper: Roberts  
> Beaters: Lloyd, Ali  
> Seeker: Dougal McBride


	10. Memory

It turned out that Greg hadn't suffered any permanent damage, which meant that the party that evening was even more raucous than either Angelina or George had anticipated. Thankfully, they managed to flee the party early. Neither of them were in the mood for lots of drunk people, but the team members were required to at least make an appearance, and Angelina had asked George to accompany her.

"Phew, that was close," she sighed as she sat down on one of the cold benches in the park behind the house. "I thought Will would never stop talking."

George sat down next to her.

"Decoy Detonators, work every time."

He was almost smiling at her again, his eyes sad but sincere.

The landscape around them was probably much more beautiful when it wasn't February, Angelina thought. The lights that were scattered around the park illuminated trees and bushes without leaves, and the flower beds looked rather pityful. There were a few hints of green here and there, the very first buds just visible, but for some reason Angelina didn't want to see them. Thankfully, it was easy to ignore them, to tell herself that the dim light was just playing tricks on her eyes.

"So, what did you think of the game?"

He pondered the question for a moment.

"The Arrows have really improved since I last saw them play. Must be because you're on the team now."

She rolled her eyes at his flattery, but there was a smile on her lips nevertheless.

"Your Porskoff Ploy was fantastic, by the way."

"I hope so. Took us long enough to get that right."

"You remember that time Alicia tried it?"

Angelina grinned.

"Katie said she had a headache for three days straight."

There was something about sharing the memory that made Angelina shiver, even as she was smiling, something that felt too large to fully comprehend, something she couldn't name, something that seemed wonderful and threatening at the same time.

They sat in companionable silence for a while, each immersed in their own thoughts. Angelina tried not to think about the strange feeling she'd had and instead tried to recall how Harrison, Gemma, Ann and her had practised the Porskoff Ploy. She found that she couldn't, that there was only fog instead of memories. She knew that they had trained for months before every one of them could pull it off, but the details were strangely missing. She tried to remember her last game with the Arrows, but encountered the same problem. 

Finally, she broke the silence.

"You know what's weird? I don't really remember the last game I was in," she mused, her voice quiet. "Everything is so... blurry, kind of. Those months after the Battle, it's like it's all unfocused in my head. I know I existed, but beyond that..."

George squeezed her hand a little, and she let herself sink against his shoulder. He didn't say anything for a few moments, then he started to talk quietly.

"The days after, they're still vivid in my mind, but then there's a stretch that I can't really remember either. I know I must have worked in the shop and I must have fed myself and I must have... existed, like you said." He paused. "I remember being angry though. With the bastard that did this, with _him_ for not being more careful, with Ron and Percy for not protecting him, with you for not contacting me..."

She shuddered involuntarily and he put his arm around her shoulder, almost protectively.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, guilt once again burning inside her. "Are you still angry with me?" 

Her voice sounded strangely high, and it took Angelina a moment to realise that the reason for that was fear; that she was terrified of his answer. But she needed to know.

"No," he said firmly, pulling her closer. "No, I'm not."

She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to calm herself down. She was shocked how strongly this conversation was suddenly affecting her, how much George's opinion of her meant to her.

"Were you angry with me?"

"Yes," she confessed, shame welling up inside her again. "When I first saw you at the shop, I thought..." She couldn't go on.

There were a few moments of silence.

"You thought it should have been me."

Why was his arm still around her? If anything, he should be cursing her, should be telling her that he never wanted to see her again, should be disgusted by her.

"I'm a horrible person," she whispered.

"Not any more than me."

It took a moment for her to realise what he was saying, and then she was hugging him, and he was hugging her, both shaking. She closed her eyes, trying to concentrate on the sensations only—his arms around her, his breath on her neck, his warmth, the feeling of his dragonskin jacket under her hands.

And then, she suddenly realised something, and the words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.

"I'm glad it wasn't you."

Her voice was barely audible, but she knew that he had heard her alright. His whole body went stiff for a second, then he gripped her even tighter. 

"I loved him, I really did. And if I could, I would do _anything_ to go back and save him. But I'm glad it wasn't you."

She felt confused and guilty and strangely relieved, and the strange sensation that she couldn't quite place was back: a warm feeling inside her that made her shiver, a feeling that she wasn't ready for and refused to examine further.


	11. Secret

They were strolling along the river once again at the end of February. The river was overflowing this time of spring, everything around it lush and green, a few flowers already growing among the various weeds.

Angelina wasn't sure what to make of it all, it seemed too alive, too hectic almost, like life was passing her by too quickly. Just a few weeks ago, she had told him she would keep fighting, but that had been in a moment of peace, she had felt safe then, and sure that something was about to change.

But during the last few days, she had thought about her progress so far, and she had reached the conclusion that she hadn't come a very long way at all. Wasn't she supposed to start healing, now that she had someone who shared her pain? Wasn't she supposed to be able to move on? 

Some things had already changed for her, she knew that, and yet her doubts still persisted. So she had felt excitement again, big deal. So she had smiled more during the last few weeks than during all of the six months before that, that didn't change the fact that she was still in much the same place when it came to—to _him_. His face kept haunting her in her nightmares, white and lifeless, the pain she associated with the memories of him was still the same. Some evenings she still drank a whole bottle of firewhiskey to be able to fall asleep.

The world was moving on, the seasons ever changing, the plants already lush and green when they were supposed to stay dead and lifeless, covered by frost, until Angelina was ready for spring. Winter refused to obey her, however, and she felt like the universe was leaving her behind in some way.

She turned towards George, and, inexplicably, she was sure he was pondering the same thing.

"Is it bad that I still can't say his name?"

The question left her mouth before she could think better of it. It was not really what she had wanted to say and yet it was the exact thought that kept haunting her.

"I don't know." He thought about it for a moment. "Probably not. I still haven't uncovered any of the mirrors in my flat."

It took her moment to grasp all the implications of that sentence, and suddenly her throat felt constricted and her stomach was turning into a block of ice. She stopped walking, horrified, her hand slipping out of his. He turned around to look at her, and she couldn't take it any longer: throwing her arms around him, she pulled him into a tight hug, almost knocking him down in the process.

Whatever she was feeling, it had to be a thousand times worse for him, and she couldn't stand it, wishing she could say something, _anything_ , wishing she could do more than hold him in her arms, wishing for the millionth time that she could turn back time and change everything.

She couldn't even fathom what he must be going through, must have been going through for all these months. He and his brother had done everything together, had always been at each other's sides, had had each other's backs in everything. Not even being able to look into a mirror—it was a horror Angelina didn't want to dwell on. She tighened her arms around him, and suddenly she felt him shudder against her. 

He had never cried in front of her before, much less sobbed into her shoulder, and she wasn't sure how to react. She hadn't expected this, it was not something she was prepared for, and she had never been very good at consoling people. She patted his back a bit, feeling utterly helpless.

"I'm here," she mumbled, not knowing what else to say. "I'm here."

He was clinging to her, his arms tight around her shoulders. She should have been there for him earlier, months ago really, but instead she had spent her time feeling sorry for herself. The guilt was immense, and she desperately tried to suppress it. She was here now, wasn't she? She was by his side and she wasn't going anywhere.

"I'm here," she whispered again, to herself as much as to him, hugging him tightly.

His sobs were ebbing away slowly, she could feel him wipe the tears from his face with one hand. He straightened, letting go of her. His eyes were red and still wet; he wasn't quite looking at her.

"Sorry 'bout all that," George murmured, the embarrassment evident in his voice.

Angelina took one of his hands again, the gesture now so familiar she hardly gave it a second thought.

"Hey, you've got nothing to be sorry about." 

With her other hand, she gently turned his head towards her, looking up into his eyes.

"Isn't that why we're doing all of this? So we can... start healing?"

And how she wished she could start healing, how she wished she could.

He gave a jerky nod, trying to keep his breathing steady.

"Yeah, I just—I don't usually... You know."

She gave his hand a small squeeze.

"I know. Don't worry about it. Your secret's safe with me."

She tried to smile at him but didn't quite succeed. For a moment, she thought she saw something in his eyes, an expression she almost recognized, an expression she hadn't seen in over a year, but it was gone in an instant.

"Come on," he said, tugging on her hand. "Let's talk about something else. How's your Quidditch team doing?"


	12. Maze

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CN: In this chapter, Angelina considers self-harm and suicide.

Over the following weeks, Angelina and George followed a now-familiar routine: taking walks alongside their river Tuesdays and Saturdays, spending Thursday evenings at George's greenhouse, George coming 'round Angelina's to do his bookkeeping on Sundays. Angelina still felt disappointed and somewhat scared at her lack of obvious progress, but most of the time she managed to ignore the feeling, focusing instead on the things that _had_ changed for her. She had laughed. She had felt excitement. She had felt hope. She was always looking forward to seeing George. She trusted George. She knew she could talk to him about everything when she was ready.

But when would she be ready? What was taking her so long?

Katie had told her to do things in her own time, but after weeks without apparent change in herself Angelina wasn't sure if that was really such a good idea.

***

It was the middle of March, the night of the new moon, dark and sinister; a howling wind was blowing outside Angelina's window. Angelina hadn't been able to sleep for hours, inside of her it was as dark as the moonless sky, her thoughts spinning in circles. Over and over she saw the broken bodies of her friends, their cold faces taunting her, jeering at her with twisted smiles, whispering that she had failed to save them; again and again did she feel her heart breaking. She tried to read, to listen to the radio, even attempted to write her thoughts down, but nothing she did would calm her raging mind. She had forgotten to buy firewhiskey and couldn't even get blissfully drunk. She was unable to concentrate on anything, not a single line in her book made sense, her quill was producing gibberish. She walked around in circles, feeling like a caged animal, alone with the horrors that she now usually only saw in her nightmares. Bodies and jets of green light, a red-haired boy lying on the floor of the Great Hall, unmoving, the shadow of a smile still on his face...

Why was she alive? What had she ever done to deserve to live, while other people were dead?

There was no justice to any of it; life was nothing but emptiness, a black abyss, a pain without end. There was no meaning to anything any more, no solace to be found, everything was dark and empty and wrong. What was preventing her from taking her wand and cursing herself right now, end it all, rid herself of the pain and the suffering? The world would spin on, her life meant nothing in the grand scheme of things.

She closed her eyes, trying to shut out her thoughts, trying to make herself forget—no battles, no bodies and no funerals, she must forget it all, she must control her heart—but her heart was beating too fast for her to command, and the pain would not subside. It didn't matter how tightly she closed her eyes, if she was walking around or curling into a ball beneath her blanket, she could still feel it.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

She couldn't do this alone, Angelina realized, if she stayed in her flat she would hurt herself, she knew it. She had already started thinking about ways to shut out her soul; there was a very sharp knife in her kitchen, and her wrists had never looked more fragile...

She staggered over towards her fireplace. Self-harm was not an option, she didn't think she would be able to stop herself from continuing to do it should she ever start. The knife had to stay in the cupboard, and her wand inside her pocket, she must be strong now.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Taking a handful of Floo powder, Angelina stepped into the fire, neither caring that she was in her pyjamas, nor that it was two in the morning. She needed to get away, had never needed a friend more than in that moment.

"Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes." She could just barely utter the words. It was rude to travel into another wizard's home without an invitation, but she hoped George would understand. Their relationship was unconventional in every way anyway, waking him up at two am because she kept thinking about knives and blood and lethal curses was maybe not the strangest thing that had ever happened between them.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

She stopped spinning abruptly and fell onto the carpet in a back room of his shop. It was completely dark and very silent; she needed a moment to make out the shapes of boxes that were stacked so high they reached the ceiling. She stood up slowly, shaking the soot off her clothes, then pulled out her wand and ignited it at the tip with a small flick. She had never been in this room before, that much was clear at once, there were boxes and boxes and more boxes, forming a kind of maze. Where was the door? She stepped into the labyrinth, careful not to touch anything. After a few steps, however, she realised that it was hopeless: the room seemed to go on forever. Around one corner, then around another and another, yet there was no exit in sight. She was starting to feel even worse than before now, and there was a suspicion in the back of her mind that she had set off some kind of anti-burglary charm. Trapped inside a maze of boxes, only the small light at the tip of her wand to guide her, the darkness at the edges of her vision coming closer and closer—maybe she should have stayed at home, should have taken the knife, she still had her wand though... No, she would not do that in George's shop. Not here, never here. To even consider adding that to the list of his burdens was atrocious.

She could always try to Apparate home, but there was the knife and the loneliness, and whatever was happening to her, it was at least keeping her from harming herself, for now. She was starting to be afraid, afraid of the surrounding darkness, afraid of the boxes and afraid that George wouldn't find her—was she to wander around here for days, weeks maybe? What was the charm designed to do? She had been trapped, certainly, but what if the spell was supposed to act as a punishment for potential shop-lifters as well?

Her heart began to flutter in dread at that thought, and she wondered if she should call out George's name—but he was probably fast asleep, he wouldn't even hear her.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

Just when the hopelessness started to get the better of her, she felt somebody shake her shoulders and her eyes flew open—she was lying in front of the fireplace again, or had she never moved in the first place? The room looked different, and George was sitting next to her, wearing an old Weird Sisters shirt and checkered pyjama bottoms, his red hair a mess. He looked like he had just woken up.

"You look terrible," he stated, by way of greeting.

Angelina needed a moment to understand what was going on.

"The maze—the boxes...?"

"Oh yeah, sorry about that. Haven't updated the anti-burglary charms to exclude you. When we set them up we didn't think anyone besides family would come visit us in the middle of the night..."

She nodded weakly, pushing herself into a sitting position, once again shaking the soot off her clothes. So it had all been an illusion after all. The room she was in now looked as though it was a small living room, although the details were hard to make out in the semi-darkness.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know what else to do, where else to go..." Her voice drifted off and she could feel tears forming in her eyes, her emotions intensified by the strangeness of it all: being hopelessly lost in a maze, then suddenly sitting next to George seconds later. "I'm really sorry I woke you up."

She started crying in earnest then, unable to stop herself, everything so vivid in her mind; bodies and curses and knives and boxes. He pulled her into his arms, and she was sobbing into his shoulder.

"I'm here," he whispered. "I'm here."

It reminded her of another day, when the roles had been reversed, and she had said that... And it was so good to hear, to hear his voice and to feel his hands and to know that he wouldn't let her go. Her tears felt hot on her face. Everything was dark and terrible, but not so cold as before, not when she could feel George next to her, breathing and moving and so alive. 

Deep breaths, deep breaths. Her sobs were quieting slowly now, and she wiped the remaining tears off her face before looking at him. There was concern in his eyes, and so much understanding.

"I'm gonna make you a cup of tea, alright?"

She nodded weakly, and he led her to a table in the middle of the room, igniting a few candles as he made his way into the kitchen. She saw now that she really had ended up in his living room: it was small but extremely cosy, and it had a warmth to it that made it difficult to think about wars or knives. It was almost weird that she had never been here before, then again she had avoided returning to his shop on purpose after her embarrassing flight shortly before Christmas.

George came back a minute later, two steaming cups of tea in his hands, and sat down on a chair across from her.

"You wanna talk about it?"

She took the hand that he offered, holding onto it for dear life. She wasn't sure how to explain.

"I... I just kept seeing the battle," she began. "The bodies and curses flying around, and—and _him_. And I had this, this overwhelming need to hurt myself."

She wasn't looking into his eyes, was focusing on their hands instead. She took a sip of her tea; its flavour was kind of strange, very pleasant but not too sweet, for a moment she thought of sweet potatoes, but who would make that into tea? Oh right, the man sitting at this very table. The thought almost made her laugh, despite everything that had happened, or maybe because of it. Angelina was never quite sure when it came to feelings.

"I just had to get out of there, and, well, this was the first place that came to my mind. Only place, actually."

Angelina took another sip of her tea, then she whispered, "I don't want to go back."

George squeezed her hand gently, a gesture as familiar as it was comforting. 

"There's a spare bed here but I don't think you'd want... I haven't even... I mean, you could sleep on the couch."

She was glad that he had enough sense not to offer her his brother's bed, she wouldn't have been able to stand it, she was doing everything she could in order not to think of him, sleeping in his bed would make that utterly impossible.

"I don't—" She stopped herself. There were limits to friendship, even to a friendship as unique as theirs. She had come here, uninvited, had woken him up and was keeping him from sleeping now, she felt she couldn't ask for anything else. Not only that; apart from the constant hand-holding and the occasional hugging and crying they were usually keeping their physical distance. What she had in mind was maybe pushing their boundaries a little too far. Not to mention that it was immature and childish.

"What is it?"

She shook her head.

"Doesn't matter."

He looked at her seriously.

"You come here in the middle of the night, sobbing your heart out, I think anything you have to say does matter."

"I just don't want to be alone," she mumbled. "But I know it's stupid, you don't have to—I mean, the couch sounds perfect."

He looked at her a long moment, then he shook his head, determination clearly visible on his face.

"Like hell it does. Come on."

He stood up, walking towards the door, but she didn't follow, too surprised by the turn of events.

"What?" Her voice sounded rather weak, even to her own ears.

George turned around, looking somewhat impatient, but his voice was very gentle.

"You're my best friend, you really think you can tell me that you want to hurt yourself and that you're afraid of being alone and still expect me not to do anything about it?"

When he put it that way, Angelina thought her idea didn't seem so childish after all.

It took a minute before she realised something else: he had called her his best friend. There was a wave of guilt that came with the feeling of happiness at the realisation. She was the best friend he had now, was the only one he could really talk to and share his feelings with, and she had abandonded him for six long months. It felt like a knife twisting inside her gut, that guilt, and she bit her lip to keep herself from whimpering. 

Ten minutes later, she was lying in George's bed. They had magically enhanced it, as well as conjured up pillows and a blanket for Angelina, so that both of them fit into the bed quite easily without even touching each other. Soon enough, however, she found herself in his arms. Their fingers had interlocked almost immediately, as if on their own accord, and from there it had only been a question of time.

It was just like when they had first started holding hands, she thought: things that she had considered romantic where different with him, more like a means of survival than an expression of feelings. It wasn't weird to be lying in his arms, somehow, not as weird as she would have expected it to be anyway. His breathing was slow and steady, calming her raging thoughts, and she was glad that his embrace didn't remind her of the boy with red hair she had once known so well, that this was different in so many ways. There were no jokes, no giggles and no deliciously wandering hands, no satisfaction and no exhaustion; instead there were unshed tears and thoughts of darkness and painful memories. This embrace was not full of light, it was full of sadness and loss and agony.

But it was a good thing still; it was comforting to know that she was not alone, that she was safe in his arms, safe from the terrors of the night, safe from herself. It was like a Patronus shining brightly in the dark, temporary but so desperately needed.

George was slowly falling asleep, she could feel it, and for the first time that night she could feel how tired she was. She could feel something else in her heart, deep inside her soul, something warm that was making her smile—but before she could dwell on what it was, she had fallen asleep as well.


	13. Breakfast

When Angelina woke up, she was momentarily confused. Why was she lying in a stranger's bed? Whose bed was it anyway? It felt warm and cosy and the sun was shining through a window. Then she remembered: she was at George's, in his bed; and apparently, she was alone. She wasn't sure how long she'd slept, the only clock in the room just showed things like "get up you smelly git", "you're working the early shift today", "shut your door when you're doing that", and "why didn't you buy any food?" Right now the hand was pointing at "hurry up already". Angelina was pretty sure she knew who had designed this clock, a thought accompanied by a twinge in her stomach.

She should get up and go back to her own flat, she hadn't even thought of bringing any real clothes with her, and Quidditch practice started at ten. George was probably already down at the shop, maybe she could write him a note? She sure as hell wasn't going there wearing her pyjamas. Just when she had come to the conclusion that she really ought to get up, no matter how cosy the bed was, George came into the room, already fully dressed in his magenta work robes, carrying a large tray laden with food in his arms.

Angelina looked at him rather weakly.

"This is real, right? You didn't give me a Daydream Charm or something?"

There was that almost-smile again, and his voice was rather cheery when he said, "Incorporating food into Daydream Charms increases the risk of drooling, and our products are designed to be as free of side-effects as possible." He winked at her, then handed her the tray. "I'm needed down at the shop, feel free to make yourself at home."

She was speechless for a moment. This was actually happening, it was hard to get her head around.

"I'm—thank you, I—thanks." When George was almost outside the door she remembered something. 

"Wait, what time is it?"

With a look at his wristwatch he turned back around.

"Half past nine, why?"

"I've got Quidditch training at ten, so I've got to go home and, uh, change into something more appropriate before that."

Looking at his watch again, he nodded.

"Okay. I've really got to get down to the shop now, Verity can't handle all those customers on her own. See you tonight at the greenhouse then?"

She nodded, smiling. For a moment, there was a strange look on his face, like he wanted to say something else but couldn't bring himself to do it. The expression vanished as quickly as it had come, and George left the room a second later.

Angelina shook her head, her own smile still lingering on her face. How strange her life had become, she thought: just the night before she had thought about killing herself and now she was smiling, about to eat a wonderful breakfast in somebody else's bed. She didn't want to think too much about what George had to do with this development, she had that strange feeling in her chest again and thought it best to let sleeping dragons lie. This was saying nothing, nothing at all, aside from the fact that they had become best friends.

She tucked into her breakfast, surprised by how good it was. Back in the time before the war, she had never known either of the twins to understand much about preparing food, but she guessed that by now George had been living away from his mother and the Hogwarts house elves long enough to have learned a few things.

She was just finishing her scrambled eggs when she saw the small note that was pinned under the edge of her plate. She folded it open, it simply read, "We should do this again sometime." She was pretty sure George wasn't talking about visiting each other unannounced at two in the morning or crying into each other's shoulders. There was that feeling again that she didn't want to think about, it was probably just some kind of weird after-effect of her destructive thoughts the night before.

When she had finished eating she cleaned the dishes with a lazy wave of her wand, then she took a quill from the desk beneath the window and added two words to the note: "We will."


	14. Worried

"You did _what_?"

Alicia was staring at Angelina in shock.

"It's not a big deal! Believe me, it's just... you know." Angelina wasn't sure how to explain the situation to her friend, how to make her see that George was helping her survive, that he was the reason she was still breathing, and that that was a good thing. Although, when she thought about it this way, it really did sound a bit unhealthy.

Alicia looked extremely worried, casting a quick glance around the Three Broomsticks to make sure no-one was overhearing their conversation before continuing to speak.

"I thought we had an understanding here; that you wouldn't get too close to him! You need to deal with everything that's happened, with your feelings, not just project them onto someone who's almost like F—like _him_!"

Angelina sighed.

"I'm not projecting anything, it's just... nice with him, it helps me. We are helping each other through this."

"By sleeping in the same bed?"

The worry on Alicia's face was accompanied by poorly masked disbelief now, her butterbeer forgotten. There was a very small voice in the back of Angelina's head telling her Alicia had a point there, but she tried to suppress it.

"So what? It doesn't make any difference. We are friends, Alicia. Friends, nothing more."

Alicia took one of Angelina's hands into her own.

"I'm just worried about you, Angelina. You tell me these things, and it sounds an awful lot like he's becoming a substitute for everything you lost... I just don't want to see you hurt again."

Angelina couldn't look into her friend's eyes any longer, staring down at their joined hands instead. She didn't know how to explain to Alicia that she had never seen her red-haired boy less in anyone than in George, and because she couldn't explain it, she worried that Alicia might be right.

"I know you're worried, but you don't have to be." She looked up at Alicia again. "I promise you, every feeling I have for him is genuine, George is my friend because he's George, not because he happens to be somebody's brother."

Alicia squeezed her hand for a moment. "I hope you're right."

***

As the week progressed, Angelina found herself thinking back on her conversation with Alicia more often than she would have liked. Was she lying to herself, pretending to move on, when she was really nurturing her old feelings—feelings she had never even told her red-haired boy about; feelings that were so easily hidden behind friendship? Was she making a mistake being that close to George?

But she had now become so used to his presence in her life, had grown so close to him, it couldn't just be old feelings. This friendship was not based on foolish hopes and self-deception, it was based on survival, on tears and monsters in the dark. Which was, if she was to be perfectly honest with herself, really not the healthiest relationship she had ever heard of. Maybe it didn't matter. They needed each other, and they were supporting each other, holding each other, keeping each other going, what did they care about healthy and unhealthy? She had a fuzzy feeling inside her chest when she thought of him—no, that was one of those things she definitely wouldn't tell Alicia any time soon.

Angelina sighed. She knew that Alicia meant well, but she just didn't understand. She didn't understand about holding hands and covered mirrors and knives. Alicia could shut out her feelings when she wanted, she had always been extremely good at that, even back in the day when she had met her as an eleven-year-old. Whereas Angelina had always been the opposite of that: the girl that couldn't keep herself from shouting through the Great Hall when Harry Potter had almost ruined Gryffindor's chances at winning the Quidditch Cup; the woman who had gone numb for months after fighting in the Battle of Hogwarts.

She dealt with her feelings differently than Alicia did, and in this case that meant she needed George, the same way he needed her. So she was dividing her weeks into "days with George" and "days without George", and the latter would predictably be colder and darker than the former; so she had started wearing magenta accessories because the colour reminded her of him; what mattered was that it was all part of her healing process. Spending time with George was doing her good, thinking about him was making her happy. There was nothing strange about that, they were friends, weren't they? Friends were supposed to help each other, were supposed to care for each other, to find each other's arms when they were crying, weren't they?

What she felt for him could be nothing but deep friendship, she assured herself.


	15. Magenta

Angelina was helping George at the shop on the last Monday of March, one of his regular employees had had some kind of family emergency, and George had asked her to fill in for him.

She had quickly realised that retail was not something she should do on a regular basis. In fact, she was pretty sure she never wanted to help customers ever again when she looked at the woman in front of her, a witch in her early fourties who regarded her with thinly veiled contempt.

"Did you not hear what I said? This shade of blue is hideous! Get me one that doesn't give me a headache!"

Angelina felt like she was an inch away from exploding and yelling at the witch's face, and she tried very hard to count to ten in her head to calm herself down. What was a woman like that even doing inside a bloody _joke shop_?

"I already showed you all the models we have available," Angelina said through clenched teeth. "And anyway, can't you just change the colour yourself if you hate it so much?" 

The woman stared at her.

"And how would I do that?"

Angelina stared right back, fuming.

"I take it you didn't pay a lot of attention in Charms classes."

The customer's mouth fell open.

"How dare you! I want to speak to your manager immediately!"

Angelina couldn't suppress a snort, thinking of George as her _manager_ was just ridiculous.

"He'd probably tell you the exact same thing."

She could feel the people around them staring, but Angelina had never particularly cared what strangers thought of her, and she wasn't about to start now.

The woman in front of her looked like she was seconds away from grabbing her wand and cursing Angelina, but what kind of threat could a woman possibly be when she couldn't even perform a simple colour changing charm?

"You insolent little— _Where is your manager_? I'll see to it that you never work here again!"

Angelina started laughing even as the woman glared at her murderously, she couldn't help it.

"Believe me, I'll see to that myself." 

She was already set on telling George this very evening that she definitely wasn't cut out for this line of work. Unfortunately, she realised too late that the woman in front of her had no way of knowing that.

"I'll teach you to make fun of me!" she almost shrieked, wand already in hand, while Angelina was still laughing, by no means ready to defend herself.

"What's going on here?"

Angelina could hear the shock in George's voice even without looking at him; and the woman lowered her wand very fast.

"Are you Mr. Weasley?" Her voice was shrill, and Angelina bit her tongue to keep herself from giggling at the sound of it. This whole situation was absurd.

"Yes, I am. Why are you threatening my staff?"

The woman gasped in shock.

"Threatening? _Me?_ If someone is guilty here, it's her!" She looked pointedly at Angelina. "I've never met anyone so disrespectful, and if it is this shop's policy to make fun of and insult customers, you can be sure I'll never set foot in here again!"

Angelina met George's eyes, but instead of the expected sympathetic look he regarded her with shock and disappointment.

"Angelina, can I talk to you in my office?"

Angelina was so taken aback by this turn of events that she didn't even protest. She could hear George giving the woman his "sincerest apologies" while she walked away, towards the little room in the back where George usually did his book-keeping.

She didn't know what to think. She was still somewhat giddy from laughing, yet she could also feel a growing anger inside her. She was doing George a _favour_ here, and now she was being sent to his stupid _office_ as if he actually was her bloody _manager_! That horrible woman had been out of line, and she sure as hell didn't deserve George's _apologies_!

It took all she had not to slam the office door shut when she got there.

George didn't arrive for a few minutes, and with every one of them, Angelina became more angry. He was probably still helping that woman, bowing to her ridiculous demands, telling her she'd been in the right when in reality she was nothing but a rude, horrible old hag.

She started pacing the small room furiously, her insides burning.

Just then, George walked in.

He closed the door behind him and they looked at each other. It was nothing like it usually was. He seemed almost as furious as her, his eyes sparkling, his mouth a thin line.

There was moment of silence, and for a split-second Angelina thought about apologising to George, he would surely stop being angry with her if she did that... But it was absolutely out of the question, she had done nothing wrong.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

She hadn't intended her words to sound quite so harsh, then again, anger management had never been her strong suit.

He looked at her like she'd just sprouted two new heads.

"What is wrong with _me_? What the hell is wrong with _you_ , Angelina?!"

She gasped.

"Excuse me?" 

"I thought you wanted to help me, and instead you start insulting my customers! I—"

"I didn't insult her! I merely pointed out that performing a colour changing charm is something every Hogwarts student can do! That's not an insult, it's a fact."

George seemed speechless for a moment. He was staring at her, his eyes livid. She had seen that look before, she realised: on the face of George's mother, before she killed Bellatrix Lestrange. It was almost frightening.

But if there was one thing Angelina was good at, it was standing her ground.

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?" George's voice was so icy that it made the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. Somehow, that just made Angelina more angry.

"Am I hearing myself? Am _I_ —Are _you_ hearing yourself? I'm trying to do you a favour here!"

She gestured wildly at the magenta-coloured staff robes she was wearing.

"You're sure as hell not doing me any favours by laughing at my customers!"

Angelina scoffed.

"Did she tell you that? That rude troll of a woman has no idea what she's talking about, I wasn't laughing at her—"

"Oh yeah? What exactly were you doing, then?"

Angelina had no idea how to explain, so she just blurted out the first thing that came into her mind.

"I was laughing at you!"

There was a short silence, and Angelina felt like her insides were turning to ice. That was most definitely not what she'd wanted to say.

George's voice was dangerously quiet when he answered.

"Well, that makes it so much better."

Angelina wanted to scream.

"No, that's not what I—I didn't—ugh!" She took a deep breath. "She called you my manager, and it just sounded so ridiculous, I couldn't _not_ laugh!"

George was still looking at her with those cold, furious eyes, and Angelina was desperate to make him understand, to make him see that she wasn't to blame in this whole scenario.

"George, she pulled her wand on me!"

"I'm not saying that what she did was right!"

"Then what are you saying, exactly?"

"I'm saying that this shop is my life, Angelina! I'm saying that we worked towards all of this for _years_ and that it's dearer to me than anything, and that it's the only meaningful thing I've got left of my brother!"

Those last words were like a physical blow to Angelina's stomach.

"I'm saying that I don't care how rude or selfish or ridiculous she was, that's how customers _are_! I'm saying that you should have swallowed your pride instead of giving my shop a bad name!"

Angelina could feel her anger welling up again at that.

"Yeah? Well, you'll be glad to hear that I'm never going to work here again! I hated every last minute of it!"

They stared at each other, neither really knowing where to go from there. Angelina suddenly wished that she could take everything back, because she cared too much about George to let an entitled old hag come between them, and she kind of understood his position now, but it was too late. The words had been spoken and were hanging heavily between them.

The anger vanished from her as quickly as it had come, and Angelina collapsed into the only chair in the room, massaging her face with her hands. She felt miserable for having yelled at him, for having been angry with him in the first place. Of course he wanted everything to be perfect in his shop. Of course he would have wanted her to smile at the woman and do whatever she wanted. And Angelina could not for the life of her imagine herself doing that. This whole thing had been a horrible idea from the start.

Across from her, George leaned against the door frame, equally deflated. His eyes met hers again, and now he just looked tired and sad.

She couldn't hold his gaze and looked at the desk before her instead.

"Sorry I yelled at you," she mumbled.

"Yeah, me too."

There was an uncomfortable silence then, each waiting for the other to say something—anything—else. Angelina wished she could just get up, go to him and give him a hug, but for some reason her body refused to move. She was too stubborn for this kind of stuff, being the bigger person just wasn't something that came easily to her.

"You're pretty magnificent when you're angry," he said suddenly, and her eyes snapped up, staring at him.

There was a sparkle in his eyes again, but this time it was the beginning of a smile, not quite a real smile yet but very close. Angelina shook her head, the tension slowly dissipating inside her.

"You're not too bad yourself. You looked like your mother when she killed that Lestrange woman. It was pretty intimidating."

He looked more flattered than she'd seen him in a long time.

"Look, I'm sorry I was unprofessional, I know how much your shop means to you. But I would never back down to a person like that, no matter where I am."

He sighed.

"Yeah, I should have known that. It was..."

"… a pretty bad idea," she finished his sentence.

They looked at each other, and Angelina strangely felt like laughing and crying at the same time. She swallowed.

"Friends?" she asked.

"Friends," he promised.


	16. Plans

They were sitting in George's living room that same evening, each holding a cup of tea.

George was still wearing his magenta robes, but Angelina was back in her own clothes, having spent the rest of the day interacting with as little customers as possible. Instead, she'd sorted and catalogued products in the back of the shop.

Strangely enough, she had the feeling that the air between them was clearer now, as if she'd never really appreciated how nice it felt to be on good terms with George. And she knew now that they could yell at each other without affecting their friendship, that it didn't change how much they cared about each other. Not that she was planning on yelling at him again any time soon, but it was good to know just in case.

George broke the silence suddenly.

"Our—my birthday's on Thursday." 

She swallowed, hard, the feeling of serenity suddenly gone.

"Oh, yeah..."

She had almost forgotten about that; for such a long time she had stubbornly refused to dwell on the concept of life going on without her red-haired boy, pretending there were no such things as birthdays, especially when it came to him. But now that George had said it, she couldn't ignore it any longer. George and her would grow older, while _he_ would stay twenty forever.

"I thought, maybe you'd like to be here with me..."

"Yes," she said decidedly, even as his voice trailed off. She needed to be there for him, no matter her own feelings; and anyway, it was probably easier to get through that day when they did it together, the way so many things were easier when they did them together.

"What about your family?"

He shook his head.

"I wouldn't—I don't think they'd know how to handle it." He sighed. "I don't think I'd know how to handle it. Seeing their faces on that day..."

He shook his head again.

"It would probably be the most horribly awkward party ever. Everybody pretending to be cheerful and expecting me to do the same, giving me useless gifts, me breaking down right in the middle of all my family members..."

It sounded almost like a joke, but Angelina knew that it wasn't, not quite.

"Spending the day with Ginny would be fine, I think, but she's not coming home for the holidays, she wants to study for her NEWTs."

"We could go to the river," Angelina suggested. "Have a picnic and catch fish the Muggle way."

He raised an eyebrow at her.

"I didn't know you were into those things."

She didn't know whether to laugh or to roll her eyes.

"I'm not, but it would make a change from the things we usually do together, that's what birthdays are for, right? We're going to take two large bottles of firewhiskey with us and get drunk and look at the stars."

He almost smiled at her.

"Three bottles, and I'm in."


	17. Fishing

On the first of April, Angelina and George were sitting on a shared blanket on the riverbank in the moonlight, fishing rods next to them, both already quite drunk.

"What do you hate most in the world?"

She only needed a moment to answer.

"Feelings. Fuck feelings."

"Fuck feelings," George echoed her.

"What about you?"

He blinked.

"What?"

"What's the thing you hate most in the world?"

He thought about it for a while. 

"Memories," he said finally. "Mirrors. And broomsticks."

She stared at him.

"Broomsticks?"

His fishing line started to twitch, and they watched it in fascination, their conversation momentarily forgotten.

"I think that's when Muggles usually pull the fish in."

George shrugged and took his wand.

"Accio fish."

A fish came flying towards them, it hit Angelina right in the face and she started laughing hysterically.

"This fish's flying is terrible."

She freed the animal from the hook and prodded it with her wand. The fish turned into a crow, flapped its wings and dived headfirst into the water.

"I think your crow still had gills."

"Shut up."

"Even Kenneth Towler could transfigure a fish better than that."

"I said shut up."

"It's a fact, Angelina."

"Fuck you."

George tried to throw the line back into the water rather unsuccessfully. He sighed dramatically and murmured, "Wingardium Leviosa". 

Mesmerised, Angelina watched as the hook floated in the direction of the river, then lay down on her back. The waxing moon was bright in the night sky, and the stars seemed to dance in slow circles.

"George?"

He lay down next to her, and she took his hand out of habit.

"Yeah?"

"What did you mean when you said broomsticks?"

He sighed.

"I miss flying."

He paused, running his fingers through his hair.

"But every time I think of getting my Cleansweep I also think of _him_ and how much _he_ loved flying, and it's driving me nuts."

She wasn't quite sure what to say to that.

"Yeah, he sure loved flying," she mumbled, her voice thick with emotion.

"And he loved those stupid pumpkin pasties. I don't think I can ever eat one of those again. Mum made them for the funeral feast... I think I was sick for a whole hour."

"Fuck."

"And he loved you. Merlin, did he love you. The look in his eyes every time he talked about you."

Angelina made a noise that was somehow both a laugh and a sob.

"And I always thought..." She sniffed quietly. "I wish he would have told me himself."

"He thought he had all the time in the world..."

Neither of them said anything for a while.

"Everything is shit," George muttered finally.

"Yep."

Angelina sat up, downed her glass of firewhiskey in one and laid down again. The stars were continuously drawing circles in the sky, the sight wasn't half bad.

"You know, maybe everything really is shit. But we can do something about the broomstick situation."

He looked at her.

"How d'you figure?"

"It's the holidays. Nobody's using the Appleby Quidditch pitch at the moment. We could go there tomorrow or something, just fly around, make new memories."

George caressed her thumb with his absent-mindedly.

"Doesn't sound too bad, actually. Making new memories with you. But, it's possible I'm gonna break down or something."

"Maybe it's a shit idea, yeah. But we won't know that until we try it."

They lay next to each other in silence for a while, watching the stars, holding hands. Angelina felt strangely happy, even though everything was shit. Maybe it was the firewhiskey. But she never felt like this when she was drinking alone at home. 

"Think we should go home before we fall asleep?"

"But it's so nice with you here," he mumbled.

"Didn't say we'd need go home seperately, did I?" She winked at him exaggeratedly.

"Oh. Oh! Right. Yeah."

They stood up with some difficulty, and quite a bit of giggling on Angelina's part.

"Can you even Apparate like this?"

George swayed on the spot a little, trying not to topple over.

"Oh please, I'm, like, the Apparating master. I could Apparate from here to the moon if I wanted to."

Angelina laughed. 

"Oh yeah? Well, I'd be happy if we just made it to your bed without Splinching ourselves."

"Why do we always sleep in my bed? Don't you have one of your own?"

"That was one time! Anyway, yours is better."

George shook his head.

"Come on, then."

He offered her his arm, and Angelina took it.

"Accio all this stuff."

_All this stuff_ flew towards the two of them: the blanket, two fishing rods, the now empty bottles of firewhiskey, two glasses, a jar that had been full of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans a few hours ago, Angelina's jacket. Both of them tried to grab as many things as they could, Angelina ended up with the last handful of Bertie Bott's Beans and a fishing rod, George with the jacket and one of the glasses.

"Good enough, right?"

"Good enough." 


	18. Broomsticks

Angelina and George were standing on the Appleby Quidditch pitch the next day, both of them carrying brooms, Angelina with a Quaffle in her hand. Thankfully, the pitch was empty except for them. Angelina had half-expected to meet one of the Arrows team members, but apparently none of them wanted to spend Good Friday at work.

The two of them had spent the morning cleaning up their picnic site, and Angelina had actually managed to find the crow she had failed to transfigure successfully the previous day and turned it back into a fish.

Angelina cast a sideways glance at George, but didn't say anything as she mounted her broom. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him do the same, and a few seconds later they were up in the air.

Angelina ascended rather lazily, while George was flying around the pitch at full speed—considering he was riding the old broom he'd already flown at Hogwarts, this wasn't saying much, however. Angelina was playing around with the Quaffle rather nervously, she still wasn't convinced this was a good idea. After all, they'd both been quite drunk when she'd come up with this plan, it was a miracle they had even remembered it. George's anti-hangover potion seemed to be working better than anticipated, even though it was still in the experimental stage. 

Just as her mind started to drift into horribly absurd fantasies about everything that could go wrong, George turned his broomstick around and flew towards her, a smile on his face.

Angelina was speechless.

She hadn't seen him smile since that fateful night so many months ago, before the battle. Since then, there had only ever been that expression on his face that almost resembled a smile. But this, this was different. He actually looked happy. It was neither his once-signature mischievous grin nor the tender smile she had seen on the face of a red-haired boy so long ago; but this was a smile alright, an actual smile.

"You have some good ideas when you're drunk."

He winked at her, and suddenly she felt her own lips split into a wide grin. For a moment, she wasn't sure if what she was seeing was real. George on a broomstick, smiling again, after everything that had happened, after everything he had gone through—she didn't quite want to admit it to herself, but there had been fear in the back of her mind that he had become unable to do any of this ever again.

She almost crashed into him when she tried to hug him.

"Hey, Angelina, everything okay?"

His voice was softer now, but she could still hear the joy in it, and she tightened her arms around him, not caring that their brooms started spinning in circles because neither of them could go forwards.

"Yeah, I'm just... glad that you're happy."

He took her face into his hands, looking into her eyes.

"Me too."

He leaned towards her, and for a split-second Angelina thought he was going to kiss her full on her lips—a thought that was accompanied by a most peculiar sensation inside her stomach she refused to examine further—but he gave her a kiss on her forehead instead. Then, again with that same smile from before, he snatched the Quaffle from her and quickly escaped her embrace, speeding towards the goalpost on the other side of the pitch, putting the Quaffle through the middle hoop.

Angelina was baffled for a second, her heart besieged with a wave of emotions, and while happiness was the most prominent among them, she could also feel a very profound disappointment she didn't want to think about. She had no business feeling disappointed at all, George was her friend and he was teasing her. This was something she should be happy about, she thought sternly as she sped after George, trying to win back the Quaffle; it showed that he was on his way to getting some portion of his old self back. That he was able to smile again should make her feel happy for him.

Yet she couldn't shake the frustration that had taken hold of her. She knew, even though she didn't want it to be true, that in that moment she had craved kissing him, that the feeling inside her had been desire; real, true desire for George. There was a recurring image that she tried to push out of her mind: George kissing her, pulling her towards him like he wanted her, George caressing her—she gripped the handle of her broomstick tighter, trying to concentrate on the present, trying to pretend she wasn't feeling what she was feeling. She bit her lip hard.

_He is your friend, nothing but your friend. You don't have feelings for him, you don't, you don't, you don't._

Deep down she knew she had already lost this battle, but she tried her best nonetheless, all the while careful not to let the tumult inside her show. She wasn't sure she was successful, however; when George asked her if she was okay in a very serious way after she had lost the Quaffle to him for the fifth time it became clear that he was aware something was wrong. It wasn't all that hard to work out really, she thought dryly: she was a professional Quidditch player, he hadn't even been on a broomstick for over a year now. There was simply no way he should be able to keep besting her.

"No, I'm fine, believe me," she hurried to assure him, but the words felt empty and rushed, and from the expression on his face it was clear that he was not convinced.

This was not the way it was supposed to be, she continued to chastise herself, Alicia was right, thinking about George in this way was so utterly wrong when she had also been in love with his brother. It was disrespectful to both of them, exchanging the one for the other, it was wrong and unhealthy.

Yet as she watched him fly around the pitch, again with that wonderful smile on his face, she couldn't keep her heart from beating faster, nor her stomach from doing backflips. It wasn't like this was a completely new development, she had just tried to shut out her feelings every time she'd felt them, she had tried to explain them away, to rationalize them. She almost wanted to curse him. If he hadn't kissed her on the forehead like that she could have carried on denying her feelings for him, hiding them even from herself, but now it was too late.

She took a deep breath.

She couldn't deal with this now, in his presence, she had to clear her head somehow. She landed at the side of the pitch, and soon enough George joined her, a questioning look on his face.

"It's just my stomach, I think I ate something weird... I'd better go home and lie down for a while."

He was looking at her worriedly, and she remembered that, since the day before, she'd eaten all her meals together with George. Well, it was too late to think of a better excuse now.

"I could take you there if you want, make you a cup of—"

"No, no, it's okay," she interrupted him. "I'm just gonna take the Quaffle back to the office, then I'll Apparate home."

She tried to smile at him in a reassuring manner, then she hastened over to the hut next to the Quidditch pitch where the Arrows stored their gear, battling to keep her facial expressions as neutral as possible.

She hastily said goodbye before she Disapparated, too preoccupied to notice the look of worry and guilt on his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I want to thank everyone who commented on this fic, knowing that people are actually reading the story makes it that much more fun to publish it! And I hope those of you who told me they want George and Angelina to kiss already aren't too upset about this chapter—but come on, you didn't really think it was going to be so easy, did you? ;)


	19. Heart

Alicia had been right about her after all, Angelina was forced to admit. She had developed feelings for George. But Alicia had also been wrong. She had feelings for him, because, well, she was in love with _him_. With George. Her feelings weren't for someone who was dead and gone, her feelings were for a living, breathing person. 

The residual feelings that she had for his brother were still there, somewhere deep within herself, and she doubted those would ever leave her completely. But those feelings were not what was in her heart when she thought of George, she was sure of that now. This was something different, thoughts of George were not laced with sadness and regret, but with life and hope. What she wanted with George was not the fleeting affair of two teenagers she'd had with his brother, what she loved about George was not his looks or his charms, although he had plenty of the first and was just in the process of rediscovering the second. 

No, what she loved about George was how he held her hand, making her feel safe; she loved that it was so easy to talk to him and that it wasn't awkward when they spent their time together in silence; she loved knowing that she could trust him with her life, that they were on a shared journey to overcome the pain. Spending time with him always gave her strength, courage to live another day, and another, and another; touching him made her feel at home, like she finally belonged, like she could move on from the war and all that had happened. When she thought of him she felt warm and content inside, in ways she had never felt for anyone.

What she wanted with George was so much more than an affair, it was a shared life, a life of trust and healing and happiness.

And it was _George_ who made her feel that, not some memory. It was George she wanted to be with, George and no one else.

It was still so very wrong, he was still the brother of her late lover. Alicia was right about that part. Angelina buried her head in her hands. No matter what she did now, it would be the wrong thing to do. If she kept quiet about her feelings she would deny herself the chance at happiness, but if she told him—Merlin, she didn't even want to think about it. Maybe he didn't reciprocate her feelings and then everything would become awkward between them. Or maybe he thought it was disrespectful of his brother's memory, and would lose his respect for her for letting herself fall in love with him. And what if he did have feelings for her? Angelina knew how Alicia had reacted at the mere thought of her being in love with him, what if they were to start a relationship? Would the whole world judge them? Would she lose her best friends?

She groaned in frustration. This was getting her nowhere! What she really and truly wanted was to talk with George about what to do in this situation, but she could hardly ask him whether or not she should tell him that she was in love with him. She grinned at the absurdity of the thought for a moment, then sighed hopelessly. She couldn't talk to George, she didn't want to talk to Alicia and Katie, knowing what they would say, and she didn't have any other close friends.

She thought of her parents, but dismissed the idea almost instantly. For some reason, she had never felt very comfortable talking to her mother and father about romantic matters, and she highly doubted that now was a good time to start changing that. Never mind that she had no idea what she was supposed to tell them.

_"Hey, remember my friend who died in the Battle of Hogwarts? Well, we were having an affair, and now I've fallen in love with his twin brother, and I'm afraid that no matter how I deal with this situation, it will lead to chaos and destruction."_

Angelina snorted. This was ridiculous. She had to sort out this mess herself.

Hours later, Angelina lay in bed, unable to sleep. She had gone over countless scenarios in her head, most of them resulting in her fantasy self crying. She shook her head. This was no good, no good at all. Ultimately, she decided to postpone making her decision. She would give herself a little time, try to get over her feelings for George, and if that didn't work, she could still talk to him about them then. It couldn't be that hard to act normal around him—she had done it all those past weeks, hadn't she? Piece of cake, really, she told herself, no need to worry.


	20. Adventure

Two days later, the evening of Easter Sunday, Angelina was on her way to meet George for a demonstration of one of his new products. 

George had refused to spend Easter with his family, not in the mood for festivities of any kind so close to his birthday. Angelina, however, had been persuaded by her father to at least attend the family dinner, and had been in the middle of eating when George's tired owl fluttered in through the open window.

The letter said nothing about what exactly he had planned, or even what this mysterious new product was; in fact, it didn't say much more than that she should meet George at the shop as soon as possible. His handwriting was almost unintelligible, George seemed to have written it in a great rush. To her own surprise, she was quite curious, but her curiosity was nothing compared to the fluttering of her stomach, almost hurting her in its intensity. She bit her lip furiously as she read the letter, but it was hopeless. Now that she was aware of her feelings for George, they wouldn't be ignored, much less suppressed.

Angelina made her excuses to her family, trying not to show her excitement too obviously, but she wasn't sure if she was doing a good job of it. Her father had that knowing look on him, and neither he nor Angelina's mother were trying very hard to persuade her to stay for dessert. Angelina almost sighed. Now that she had acknowledged those stupid _feelings_ , it seemed impossible to hide them from the people around her.

Well, she would just have to make more of an effort around George.

She threw a bit of Floo Powder into her parents' fireplace and stepped into the green flames.

The warmth was not the reason why her skin was tingling, she was very sure of that; nor was it responsible for the smile on her face, or the shaking of her limbs. She probably looked a proper fool, and for a moment she wasn't sure she would be able to keep George from finding out about her feelings. But then she said "Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes" loudly, and the moment was over.

George helped her out of the fireplace of number 93, Diagon Alley, and even though this was not unusual, her skin was burning where his fingers touched hers, and she could feel shivers running through her body.

"Hi," she said, somewhat breathlessly, smiling widely at him.

"Hi yourself. Great you could come so quickly." The corners of his mouth lifted for a moment before he began walking towards one of the shelves, never letting go of her hand. "I think I finally got the formula right this time, I hope you're okay with trying it out with me, I can't think of anybody else who would be suitable for a test run..." 

He stopped right before one of the shelves, and turned around to face her.

"You're okay with this, right?"

She almost laughed. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen him so enthusiastic about anything, it was a sight for sore eyes.

"You haven't even told me what this is all about," she said, grinning.

"Oh, right! Sorry. It's just that we worked on this thing for ages and we could never get it right, but I think I finally found a way to make it work..." He took two small vials from the shelf in front of him and showed them to her proudly, the liquids inside them changing colour every few seconds. "You know our Daydream Charms, right? This is something similar, but it allows several people to share the same fantasy! Great, huh?"

He had the same smile on his face that she'd seen two days before, when he'd flown towards her on his broomstick, and she couldn't take her eyes off him. He had been right before her, moments away from kissing her, if only he'd kissed her—

_Pull yourself together! There is a conversation happening here!_

"Wow! You're a great wizard, you know that? I don't think anybody else..."

She trailed off, her eyes on the vials in his hands. If that really worked, how much of her thoughts would he see, exactly? She knew that Daydream Charms used the thoughts and fantasies of the user as a basis, but that wasn't much of a concern when you were alone. In this situation, however, Angelina was pretty sure that sharing a fantasy could lead to very embarrassing revelations extremely quickly.

"What do you mean when you say share, exactly?" She tried to sound casual, but she knew she couldn't fool George, he knew her too well.

"Don't worry, I don't mean sharing private thoughts or legilimency, it's more like having an adventure together." He paused for a moment, eyeing the potion. "At least that's what it's supposed to be like, this is the first time I'm testing it with somebody else, so there's a chance that it doesn't work at all like I want it to. You still want to try it?"

As much as Angelina wanted to go on an imaginary adventure with George, her doubts were at the forefront of her mind: what if George had made a mistake, what if the potion revealed that she had feelings for him? That was certainly not the way she intended him to find out about that.

She took a deep breath. She knew George's work, knew him to be a competent wizard, the chances of his potion being faulty were slim.

And since when had she ever played it safe?

"Okay," she said decidedly, suddenly full of excitement. 

George conjured up two very comfortable-looking armchairs in the middle of the room, and a small table between them. With a flick of his wand, he let the two vials he had shown her float across the room to the table, and with them a bigger flask filled with a light green potion.

"Make yourself comfortable," he instructed, and Angelina sat down on one of the chairs, heart pounding. 

"This one," George said, pointing towards the green liquid, "is the antidote. It should stop the fantasy as soon as we drink it, just in case anything goes wrong. Like I said, the shared daydream potion is still in the experimental stage."

Angelina nodded, hoping they wouldn't need that one, and George handed her one of the small vials, obviously excited.

"See you on the other side, I guess."

He winked at her, and both of them drank the potion. It tasted faintly like raspberries, Angelina thought, and the effect was similar to the one of the Daydream Charms: it felt a bit like nodding off, only that she stayed conscious, accompanied by the feeling of floating far away. She closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them again, she found herself in the middle of a small clearing in a forest.

She was wearing clothes that seemed to be inspired by the Middle Ages, a simple tunic and linen trousers, and light leather boots. There was a bow in her hand, and a quiver fastened to her waist. She searched for her wand, but couldn't find anything. Angelina looked up when she heard the sound of branches cracking coming from the forest, just in time to see George emerging from it, wearing clothes similar to hers, a sword in his hand.

While he walked towards her, she tried to attach her bow to the bow sling she was wearing, but she wasn't sure she was doing a good job, it felt like the bow would fall to the ground any second.

"I really need to improve the beginning," George grumbled when he reached her. "People are supposed to start out together, not waste time having to find each other first."

"So this is you I'm talking to? I'm not just imagining this conversation?"

He shrugged.

"I guess we'll have to compare notes when the daydream is over, I have no idea if you're the real you or not, either."

They looked at each other, and Angelina was pretty sure that she and George were thinking the same thing: the whole thing seemed real enough. There was something different about him, although Angelina could not place it at first; then it hit her: this version of George had two intact ears. For a moment she considered asking him about it, but then decided against it. This wasn't the time to discuss the past, this was the time to have an adventure.

The good thing was that Angelina could not read George's thoughts at all, so chances were good he couldn't read her mind either.

"So, is this a Muggle fantasy or what? I can't find my wand."

George grinned.

"Oh no, much better! Wait, I'll show you."

He sheathed his sword and began moving his hands in an intricate pattern. A faint glow was surrounding them, and a moment later a flower started to grow in front of him, taller and taller, until it was almost as tall as George himself. Angelina had to look twice before she saw that the blossom was actually a strawberry pie _shaped_ like a flower. George took two pieces of pie and handed her one.

"It's a fantasy! You can do anything you like, even things that magic can't do in the real world. But trust me, this is a lot of fun without using magic, too."

Angelina held out her pie-free hand and concentrated, the way she usually did when casting a spell, on making her wand appear in it. This was very easy, really, she thought, as her wand materialized between her thumb and forefinger. 

George raised an eyebrow at her.

"I just feel better having my wand with me," Angelina shrugged, pocketing the familiar wooden stick.

They started walking towards the trees, each eating their piece of strawberry pie. It was extremely delicious, Angelina had to admit. Then she remembered that he'd told her he didn't usually incorporate food into Daydream Charms for risk of drooling, and she started grinning when she imagined what their bodies must look like back in George's living room.

There were more important matters at hand, however.

"So, how does this fantasy work? Why these outfits and weapons?"

"Oh, this is just a kind of default scenario that we designed to test our first line of Daydream Charms. I reused it because I just wanted to test if the sharing part worked. When the product's finished the participants will be able to dream up their own worlds, with their own rules."

Angelina couldn't help but look at him admiringly for a moment, then she mentally slapped herself. She had to keep it together in front of George, no matter how amazing he or his work were.

"Impressive," she said, trying to sound casual once more and failing to pull it off convincingly yet again. "You know, the more I learn about your products, the more I'm wondering why you and him weren't the best Hogwarts students in our year."

He scoffed. "Like we would ever sink that low. Best students in our year, really, Angelina?"

George shook her head at her, but Angelina could see that he was flattered. 

He led her to a small path that cut through the trees, just wide enough for the two of them to walk side by side.

"So, what exactly are we doing here?" Angelina looked down at the quiver fastened to her hip with raised eyebrows. "'S this one of those 'saving the world' stories?"

"Course it is. We would never settle for anything less." He winked at her, and Angelina giggled.

_Giggling like a school girl, well done! Next, you can profess your love to him dramatically!_

She bit her lip when George wasn't looking. Acting like she wasn't in love with him was proving to be much harder than she had anticipated. She threw a glance at him. He somehow managed to look good even in that ridiculous outfit, striding along purposefully, red hair ruffled by the light breeze...

_Focus, for Merlin's sake!_

"And in what way does the world need saving today?" 

"A dark wizard has conquered this land and enslaved its good citizens, forcing them to do his evil bidding with the help of his Mirror of Misery." How George managed to keep a perfectly straight face while doing an imitation of Dumbledore was beyond Angelina, and she had to bite her tongue to keep herself from giggling again. "The Mirror forces its victims to confront their deepest, darkest thoughts; and there are but two valiant heroes who are brave enough to face their fears in order to defeat the evil wizard and restore peace and prosperity."

Angelina couldn't keep in her laughter any longer, her eyes were already wet from trying not to laugh for the duration of his speech. 

"You know this is really disrespectful to Dumbled—wait, did you just say deepest thoughts?"

Suddenly, she didn't feel quite as cheerful any more. She didn't even want to think about what the Mirror would show. Hadn't George promised her that she could keep her secrets to herself?

"Is that a bit overdramatic? I guess we were overdoing it a little when we designed this thing..."

"Never mind that, you told me that you wouldn't be able to read my mind! How is a magic mirror that shows my fears and secrets not sharing my thoughts?"

His face fell suddenly.

"Oh, right... I was so excited I got the potion to work, I kind of forgot about that part of the adventure. Sorry." He looked at her apologetically, and Angelina found it very hard to keep being mad at him. "We can stop right now, if you want. The antidote is right in front of you, you just have to concentrate on your real body and take a sip to get out of here."

Angelina concentrated for a moment, and suddenly she was seeing two overlapping scenes: in one, George was standing in front of her, in the other, George was sitting in an armchair, eyes closed, and the flask with the antidote was inches from Angelina's fingertips.

It would be so easy to pick up the bottle and drink from it, but in her heart, Angelina knew that she didn't want to. She had decided to go on an adventure with George, and she was not one to quit after five minutes, least of all out of cowardice. She was a Gryffindor, after all. And who said her feelings for George would even come up? They weren't really a dark secret, anyway, more of a very bright, pink-ish, not-much-of-a-secret-if-you-really-looked-closely-at-her-behaviour kind of thing. She blinked, and the image of the room at the shop was gone.

"No, I'm not quitting. Just promise me that next time, you'll tell me what I'm getting into before giving me potion."

"'Course. Sorry."

Angelina couldn't help but smile at him, it was simply impossible to be angry at George, especially when he was looking at her like this, obviously happy about the fact that she was staying.

"So, let's defeat this evil wizard then! Why are we using Muggle weapons against a wizard, anyway?" She threw a glance at her bow, then at the sword fastened to his belt.

"Because it's fun! And these are no mere Muggle weapons. You are the bearer of the Bow of Light, any arrow you shoot will hit its mark. And this is the Blade of Woe, rendering any enemy's magic useless."

Angelina shook her head half-heartedly, a smile on her lips. She wasn't sure if George was pulling her leg or not, and the feeling reminded her of a different time, of a red-haired boy and his at times inscrutable remarks. It was a curious thing: just a few weeks ago, she would have broken down at the thought, but right in this moment the memory was inspiring fondness, more strongly than pain or sadness. He would always be in her memory, and there would always be pain connected to the thought of her red-haired boy, but for the first time since the war, Angelina felt that the pain wasn't bone-crushing, but bearable.

She looked at the red-haired man next to her, so similar and yet so different, changed and scarred by the war. Out of the two he was the person she had truly fallen in love with. The love she'd felt for her red-haired boy, that had been a teenager's crush, nothing like what she felt for George. She had been fond of him, she had liked him a lot, had even loved him, but there had been no deep connection between them like there was between her and George. There was simply nobody who knew her as well as George, nobody she trusted more, nobody who understood her better.


	21. Mirror

The two of them made their way up a gentle slope, their surroundings quite peaceful, not at all how Angelina imagined a place ruled by a dark wizard. There were colourful flowers growing on the edges of the gravel road, and the underbrush to either side was buzzing with life. She could hear birds singing, butterflies and bees were zooming about, the plants were lush and green. 

Angelina was just getting used to walking through the perfect forest when she and George reached the top of the hill and a broad valley came into view. Angelina gasped. Everything before her was black and gray, the charred earth inhospitable to plants or animals. In the middle of the plain stood a gigantic black castle, obviously still under construction, judging from the missing tower and the hundreds of people that were working on it. 

George stopped and turned towards her.

"Good, huh?"

Angelina raised an eyebrow at him.

"There was something you said before, I don't recall what it was exactly, but I think it had something to do with overdoing it?"

Her sarcasm made him smile.

"Oh come on, what's the point of a fantasy if you're _not_ overdoing it?"

She laughed.

"True. So, what now? Should we just walk in and demand he come out of his castle and face us, or would you rather sneak in and surprise him while he's in the shower or something?"

"You wouldn't want to surprise this guy while he's in the shower... He's not really your type, trust me."

Angelina tried very hard to shut out an annoying thought that stubbornly kept chanting _Yeah, because you're my type!_ directed at George, but wasn't very successful, unfortunately.

_Don't look at him, Angelina, concentrate now, for Merlin's sake!_

She turned towards the black castle, pretending to assess their situation. She took a deep breath in order to focus.

"In that case, what are we waiting for? Let's face the Mirror of Misery head-on and rid the land of this villain!"

She started walking down the path into the valley confidently.

"And your amazing plan really is to just walk up to him and—then what?"

The two of them continued to discuss strategy for the next ten minutes, until they had almost reached the castle, although Angelina had to admit that it was more akin to friendly bickering than to having a rational discussion. Bickering with George was a lot of fun, but then again, with her feelings being what they were, that didn't come as much of a surprise.

The workers around them eyed them hopefully as they made their way towards the castle, but none of the many guards made a move to stop them. 

"See, we're not being attacked, just like I said." Angelina couldn't help but sound smug.

"Just wait until we face his seven deadly assassins after destroying the mirror..."

Angelina's head jerked around. "You never said anything about seven deadly assassins!"

He shrugged, keeping a perfectly straight face. "Must have slipped my mind, I guess."

"You are _unbelievable_ , you big, fat—"

"Halt! Who goes there?"

They had reached the castle doors, and a soldier was blocking their path.

"We are messengers from the kingdom of Doloria Umbridgia, and we need to speak with your master."

Angelina bit her tongue, trying not to laugh.

"What are your names?"

Again, George answered before Angelina could.

"Angelina, called the Wicked Arrow, and George the Undefeated."

Angelina bit her tongue very, _very_ hard.

"You may pass."

They stepped inside the castle, where a young maid beckoned them to follow her. 

Angelina mouthed "George the Undefeated?" to George when the maid wasn't looking, and George shrugged, a smug expression on his face.

They were taken to an enormous throne room deep inside the castle, where their enemy was already waiting for them. At first glance he looked like a frail old man, wrinkles all over his face, his white beard thinning; but there was an unmistakable strength emanating from him, a power that Angelina could almost feel under her skin. She shivered.

"Messengers from Doloria Umbridgia," said the wizard loudly, "welcome to my halls. Why have you come?"

Angelina drew herself up to her full height.

"You have no right to enslave these good people. Leave this land in peace or prepare to face our wrath!"

Angelina was looking at him sternly, and the wizard started laughing.

"You would make an excellent court jester."

Angelina raised her eyebrows and threw a glance at George, who had a bemused look on his face.

"This is your last chance!" Angelina declared, and George snapped out of his reverie. He drew his sword.

"Your magic is useless against my Blade of Woe, so give up while you still can!"

He stepped forward, and the wizard laughed again, clapping his hands. A gigantic mirror materialized before George, its surface cloudy, like plumes of smoke. Angelina looked over George's shoulder, but neither his nor her reflection were visible in the mirror. Weirdly enough, she could still see the wizard standing behind it, as if through a veil.

"You will know defeat, like all those before you!"

With that, the wizard clapped again, and the clouds on the surface on the mirror started to disappear.

Angelina could see what George was seeing, a battle, _the_ battle... When she realised what the mirror was showing it was too late, she couldn't look away, no matter how much she wanted to.

Percy Weasley was duelling Thicknesse, and there was a red-haired boy next to him, the face that haunted her in her nightmares still alive, still laughing, still breathing.

"Hello Minister!" Percy shouted. "Did I mention I'm resigning?"

"You're joking, Perce!" 

The red-haired boy looked at him, his expression full of delight, and Angelina felt like she was falling, like the ground beneath her feet had suddenly vanished, her stomach was revolting; but she was forced to stand completely still, frozen by the mirror's magic.

"You actually _are_ joking, Perce... I don't think I've heard you joke since you were—"

Angelina knew what was coming, tried to prepare for the moment, but there was nothing that could prepare her for seeing the castle wall being blown open, hitting him, sending him flying through the air, falling to the floor with a sickening _thump_ , his body cold and lifeless.

It was worse than a nightmare, she couldn't wake up, could do nothing to stop it, couldn't even close her eyes, couldn't shut out Ron's and Percy's cries, would never be able to unsee it.

The scene on the mirror's surface changed, and suddenly there was Percy's voice again.

"Hello Minister!"

This was sick, nothing but sick, she thought as the scene started playing out once more. Her head was strangely empty, as though her brain refused to process what she was seeing, she felt sick to her stomach, there was a block of ice were her heart had been—

"Angelina..."

She had never heard George's voice sound like this, so full of despair, she couldn't bear it.

There was something she could do, she remembered suddenly.

She concentrated on her body, on the reality outside of the dream—then she saw the living room once again, the antidote right before her. There was another image before her eyes: her red-haired boy, caught in the centre of an enormous explosion, the shadow of his last laugh still on his face...

"Angelina," she heard George plead, "Perce," she heard the red-haired boy say in astonishment; and she couldn't stand it, she wanted to scream, she wanted to run, she wanted to be hit by that castle wall and make it all go away, she wanted to take her wand and kill whoever was responsible for all this misery, she wanted to grab George and take him to a place far away from all the memories and the pain.

For a second, Angelina felt like her chest was about to explode, the feelings inside her overwhelming her in their intensity; then she grabbed the bottle in front of her and took a large sip of the green potion.

It felt a bit like using a portkey, but not quite. She was being pulled away from the castle, or rather her _mind_ was; for an instant she thought her head was being split in two, then her eyes started burning. She gasped for air, her lungs felt strangely empty, and suddenly she was back inside her body, the images she had seen still haunting her. 

She focused on George, sitting across from her with his eyes closed. He looked like he was in excruciating pain, and once she saw that, all other thought was pushed from Angelina's mind. In an instant, she was kneeling before him, holding the bottle of antidote to his half-open mouth.

"Wake up," she breathed desperately, "George, wake up, wake up, George, can you hear me? Wake up, come on..."

She repeated the words over and over, like a prayer, wanting it all to be over, how stupid had they been to go on that adventure, what if the antidote didn't work on him, she couldn't bear to see him like this, her red-haired boy was laughing in her head, you actually are joking, Perce, George was groaning in pain, this wasn't happening, why was this happening, wake up, George, wake up, wake up...

"Angelina," George whispered, and she grabbed his face forcefully, her hands shaking. 

"George!" she gasped in relief when he opened his eyes, at least the antidote had worked! "It's over, I'm here, George—" 

She didn't even really know what she was saying, she just knew that she had to do _something_ in order to keep going. 

George was panting hard, the pain in his eyes so deep and horrible that Angelina almost looked away, then somehow she pulled him into her arms, and they were sitting on the floor together.

"I'm here," she whispered, again and again, her voice shaking, "I'm here, I'm here."

She could feel his heart beating, so fast, too fast. His whole body was shaking. There was something wrong with his breathing—but Angelina knew how to handle that, at least. She'd choked on her own breath often enough.

She quickly adjusted her position to be able to look at him, her hands still on his shoulders.

Deep breaths, deep breaths.

"Focus on my voice," she told him, trying to sound more confident than she felt. "Inhale... Exhale... Inhale... Exhale..."

She said the words over and over again, and after a while George's breathing fell into her rhythm.

"You're doing great. I'm here with you, yeah? Inhale... Exhale..."

Angelina felt herself becoming calmer as the minutes progressed. George was still shaking, but it wasn't as bad as before, and he was breathing normally now.

George looked into her eyes, finally.

"You want me to continue?" she asked quietly. He shook his head.

"No, I'm fine. I mean I'm not, but... I can breathe. Thanks."

There were tears forming in his eyes, rolling down his cheeks. She tugged him towards her and he collapsed into her arms, crying against her shoulder. The images were coming back to Angelina now, still vivid in her mind, and suddenly she couldn't hold back her own tears any longer.

"I-I wasn't even there when it happened," George whispered, "I was always there for him, and on the one day when it really mattered I wasn't there to protect him, I should have stayed with him, I never should have let him out of my sight!"

"It's not your fault," Angelina said firmly. "You couldn't have known what would happen. It's not your fault."

Strangely enough, the most prevalent thought in Angelina's mind was, _At least we're not alone this time around_. They had lost their red-haired boy once, and they'd had to suffer alone; but now that they had lost him again, they had each other. 

"Stay with me tonight?"

She nodded, not sure if she could trust her voice to work.

Angelina had no idea what time it was, probably just around nine o'clock, but she wanted nothing more than to curl up beneath a warm blanket and hold George's hand and fall asleep with her arms around him, every inch of her body felt utterly exhausted, her face hurt from crying, and her thoughts—she wished she knew how to stop them, how to shut them out, how to forget.

"You think there's a spell for this?" she asked him hoarsely as they made their way into his bedroom, never letting go of each other's hands.

"Huh?" George looked as though his mind were far away, still dreaming, not really bound to his body again, and she couldn't blame him.

"A spell that just makes you forget all of it..."

"There is," George said with a sigh. "Obliviate. I used to consider using that one on myself. But I would rather remember him like this than not remember him at all."

Angelina was silent for a few minutes, contemplating his words. He was right, she had to admit, no matter how painful it might be: it would be wrong to erase his memory from her mind, and not just because it was cowardly and selfish. It would be wrong because she wanted to have known him, wanted to remember him. His jokes and his laughter, the kindness in his eyes when he'd looked at her when they were alone, his kisses and his pranks; it was better to remember him and suffer for it than to erase him from her mind.

A few minutes later, George was lying in her arms, and Angelina suddenly remembered something he had said earlier.

"What we saw, that wasn't actually your memory, was it? Because you said you weren't there when it happened..."

George shook his head.

"It's Ron's memory. I asked him to share it with me, after the war. I needed to see it for myself."

Angelina felt like she had been petrified, unable to move and or even blink, and it took her a moment to regain control over her body.

"That–that sounds horrible."

"Believe me, it was. But it was still better than having to imagine different versions of his death all the time, never knowing which one came closest to reality..."

She shuddered and pulled him closer.

"Somehow, I never imagined it at all. I just kept seeing his face when he was lying in the Great Hall, the way he didn't look like himself any more, just cold and lifeless." There were tears in her eyes again as she pictured it; she doubted she would ever forget that image. "I kept seeing his face for weeks on end, everywhere I looked..."

"Me too," George whispered; and then they were holding each other so tight that Angelina had trouble breathing for a few moments. 

"You know, I actually felt happy. I mean before all of that, at the beginning of the dream. I thought I had finally..."

He didn't finish his sentence, but Angelina was pretty sure she knew what he meant. 

Neither of them said anything for a while, and Angelina was close to falling asleep when George broke the silence.

"Thank you for being here with me." His voice was as quiet as he was sincere.

"Any time," Angelina mumbled. 

"I don't know what I would have done without you."

"You probably wouldn't have tested a potion designed to be used by two people."

His voice sounded different when he answered, more pensive.

"No, I guess I wouldn't have."


	22. Pig

The morning of Easter Monday, Angelina woke up to strange noises coming from the window. It sounded like someone was throwing Pygmy Puffs against it at random intervalls. George still had his arms around her, she realised as she became aware of her surroundings; his breathing was slow and deep. She smiled against his chest, savouring the moment before opening her eyes to find out what was causing the racket. 

A small owl was crashing into the window again and again, apparently in order to catch their attention, a disproportionally huge letter tied to his legs. An owl that anyone who had ever shared the Gryffindor common room with Ron Weasley would recognize anywhere. Pigwidgeon. Angelina was almost surprised that she had no problem remembering his name, then again, it was so ridiculous that it would have been more shocking had she _not_ remembered it.

Carefully, Angelina tried to get up without waking George. The attempt was not entirely unselfish, although Angelina would never openly admit to the fact that she loved watching George sleep. When he wasn't having nightmares, there was something peaceful in his expression when he was sleeping that went away the minute he woke up.

Her train of thought was interrupted when George started moving next to her, eyes fluttering open. So much for watching him sleep.

"Morning," Angelina greeted him with a sleepy nod and went over to the window.

"I don't believe it," George mumbled, "Pig?"

The owl zoomed happily around the room after Angelina let him in, hooting loudly.

"Yep," she stated, watching the bird somewhat nonplussed.

"Since when does Ron write to me? Mum, yes. Bill, yes. Ginny, absolutely. But _Ron_? He's never been the type for writing letters."

He sounded like he was still half-asleep as he got up, and Angelina couldn't blame him. It was pretty early in the morning. If anyone's owl was going to show up at all hours, waking them up early on the one day they could both use a bit of sleep, of course it was Ron's.

Well, no use crying over spilt potion.

"How do you get him to actually give you the letter?" Angelina asked as she watched Pigwidgeon flutter about the room.

George went to stand next to her, trying to flatten his unruly hair with one hand. Angelina did her best to ignore the sight of him, he was looking so adorable that she didn't know what she would do if she watched him for too long.

"I have no idea." He yawned and held out a hand towards the owl, the one that had been in his hair just moments ago. To Angelina's astonishment, Pig flew straight into the proffered hand, drawing a sound of surprise from George. He clearly hadn't expected it to work.

Angelina started to loosen the heavy letter from the owl's leg, wondering how he had even been able to fly with that thing attached. George was looking around the room, searching for something. As soon as Angelina finished detaching the letter, Pig took to the air again, hooting loudly, and George went over to his night stand, taking his wand.

"Accio owl treats."

A small parcel flew into his outstretched hand from behind the wardrobe.

"I knew I had those lying around somewhere. Accio bowl." 

"I can set those out," Angelina offered, "then you can read your letter."

They exchanged the things they were holding, and Angelina went to look for her own wand while George sat down on the edge of the bed and ripped open the letter. There were three pages of parchment, and from what Angelina could see, the handwriting on each of them looked different.

"Aguamenti," Angelina murmured, filling the bowl with water. She put a few of the owl treats next to it, and to her surprise Pig actually landed on the table and busied himself with one of the treats.

Angelina thought about going back to bed, it really _was_ early in the morning, and it was a holiday, after all. She threw a glance at George who was sitting with his back to her, at the red hair that was still sticking up stubbornly, at the pale skin at the back of his neck, at his broad shoulders under the old Weird Sisters shirt he slept in, and she tried very hard not to think about how much she wanted to kiss him.

Angelina was just in the process of pulling the blanket over herself when George exclaimed, "Merlin's beard!"

"What's wrong?"

George shook his head slowly, not taking his eyes off the letter he was holding. Angelina sat up, growing worried. Had something happened?

"Wow," he murmured, ignoring her question. He did sound shocked, but not particularly sad, which Angelina took as a good sign.

George skimmed the last of the three letters, then turned around to face Angelina.

"Do you want to pose as my girlfriend for Ron and Hermione's engagement party?"

He was looking at her with a perfectly straight face and Angelina could do nothing more than stare back for a few seconds.

"What?"

"Do you want to pose as my girlfriend for Ron and Hermione's engagement party?"

Angelina opened and closed her mouth a few times, not quite sure which of her many questions to ask first. Somehow, it felt like George's sentence didn't quite register with her brain. She couldn't make sense of it.

"I... _What?_ "

He was watching her, lips curving into a half-smile. 

"Sorry. That look on your face was worth it."

"Please tell me what's going on. From the beginning."

George took one of the letters again, glancing at it for a moment before he started to speak.

"This one's from Ron, telling me that he is inviting all close family members to the Burrow for an important announcement on Sunday. The whole thing's entirely too formal to be written by Ron himself, I know his style. Practically has _Hermione_ written all over it. So they're either going to tell us about their engagement or that Hermione's pregnant."

He held up the second piece of parchment, this one a lot longer than the first.

"But this one is from Ginny, and she tells me that Mum made her come home instead of letting her study for her NEWTs, which is definitely suspicious, and that Mum then made Ron invite our aunt Muriel. You don't know our dear auntie, but believe me, Ron would never let Muriel near Hermione if she were pregnant. And besides, Hermione's still at Hogwarts, they couldn't even..."

George fell silent, his brow furrowed, apparently he did not want to think about what Ron and Hermione got up to in private.

"Anyway, so I'm pretty certain they're going to announce their engagement. And I want to bring a girlfriend because Ginny says here that Muriel has taken to telling people that I should be in St. Mungo's because I am psychologically unstable, and that I will never be able to lead a normal life."

George was actually almost grinning as he said this, but Angelina could feel a cold fury growing inside her.

"Don't worry, that's just old Muriel for you," George said, noticing the murderous expression on Angelina's face. "But I'd really like to parade a beautiful girl around in front of her, you know? Rub it in her face."

Angelina tried to keep her breathing under control.

"I'm going with you."

"Oh, good."

"And I am going to turn her into a gnome."

"Ah, that's—"

"And then I'm going to put her in a cage and tell her every day that she is a horrible, disgusting, foul-smelling hag who should be ashamed to breathe the same air as you."

George looked at her with a mixture of admiration and amusement.

"I like your spirit," he said cheerfully, "but I'm not sure the rest of the family would be okay with that."

"Who cares?"

George smiled widely, a real smile that reached his eyes and that made her heart spin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, it's ye olde Fake Dating™! I just couldn't resist. Plus, these two are really stubborn and need a little nudge in the right direction. 
> 
> Also, I honestly have no idea if engagement parties are an actual thing in the real world. If they're not just pretend that they exist in the wizarding world for the sake of plot.


	23. Okay

On Thursday, George and Angelina went to take care of the plants in the greenhouse together, as had become their habit. The work was getting more demanding from week to week, as was to be expected in the middle of spring. George was already coming here several times a week in order to keep all the plants happy; especially the mandrakes required a lot of attention, even though they weren't even close to their tantrum-throwing age yet.

The time spent at the greenhouse always made Angelina strangely happy. At Hogwarts, she had never been a big fan on Herbology, and she still wasn't sure how her potted plant at home had even survived throughout the previous year. Before her close friendship with George she had never really understood what other people saw in plants, but she couldn't deny that there was something unique about working at the greenhouse. It wasn't just about George, either. Helping out here made her feel like she was doing something worthwhile, and the atmosphere was always tranquil and peaceful. Working as a professional Chaser was many things, but it definitely wasn't peaceful. 

***

"Hey, you okay?" Angelina asked quietly when they were sitting in front of the small building after they had finished their work. "I mean, we never really talked about what happened."

She knew she didn't have to go into more detail, George knew exactly what she was talking about.

"I'm... Yeah, I'm okay."

He looked at her.

"What we saw, I'd seen it before, you know? I just wasn't prepared for it in that moment. I hope that makes sense."

She nodded.

"Yeah, I think so."

There was a short pause.

"Are you?"

She blinked.

"Am I what?"

"Are you okay?"

Angelina considered the question.

"I'm not sure. I think I shouldn't be, but I—I _am_ , somehow. I keep thinking one day I'll wake up and the memory will suddenly be too much."

She swallowed.

"Part of me keeps hoping that that's what's going to happen."

He took her hand.

"Why?"

Angelina sighed.

"Lately, I've been feeling like I'm actually moving on. Accepting what happened. And it feels like that's what makes it all real. All those months after the war, it never felt so real. But... shouldn't there be more of an impact? Shouldn't I be hurting more?"

George looked at her seriously.

"No. No, you shouldn't."

"How can you be so sure?"

"I can be sure because I knew my brother. And I know he wouldn't want you to feel pain for years on end. I think it would make him happy to know you're coming to terms with—with everything."

Angelina wasn't sure how to respond to that. It wasn't what she had expected him to say. 

"I never really thought about it like this."

She supposed George was right, though.

"Yeah, took me a while to figure this out, myself. But I'm glad I did, it helps a little with the guilt."

His voice was rather light, despite the subject matter. 

"I'll be trying that, then."

Angelina had the absurd urge to smile.


	24. Jacket

Up until this week, Angelina never would have thought that shopping could be so much fun, but then again, she had never been trying to find the perfect outfit to offend George's aunt Muriel before. 

George had suggested she wear Muggle clothes because Muriel disdained Muggles, and Angelina had soon found out that Muggles seemed fond of something called crop tops. When she'd shown one to George, he had been absolutely delighted. Apparently, Muriel disdained women who showed "too much skin" almost as much as she disdained Muggles.

Saturday evening found them back at George's, putting the finishing touches to their respective outfits.

Angelina had managed to find a hot pink crop top that complemented her dark skin perfectly, as well as a white skirt that was long on one side and showed almost her entire leg on the other. George had turned one of his old robes the same exact shade of pink as Angelina's top, the colour clashing with his hair even more extremely than his magenta work robes.

They were both grinning as they looked at each other. 

Angelina took a pair of platform shoes into one hand.

"You think I should wear these," she asked, holding up a pair of boots with her other hand, "or these?" 

"The weird ones. Definitely."

Angelina pulled on the platform shoes and took a few careful steps. 

"Wow. I should practise walking in those."

"You look amazing."

Angelina raised her eyebrows at George.

"…-ly horrible."

She laughed.

"Thanks. Your robe is awful."

"You know you love it."

He struck a pose and wiggled his eyebrows at her. Angelina could swear he was stoking her sexual frustration on purpose, half-amazed at herself for still being attracted to George when he was wearing the most hideous pink robe the world had ever seen.

"You thinking leather jacket to go with this?"

She held up the one she had bought, pretty standard compared to the rest of the clothes she was wearing. George looked at her for a second, then went over to his closet and started searching for something.

"Oh Merlin, you're brilliant. Why didn't I think of that?"

He emerged, holding his black dragon-hide jacket in his hands.

"You should wear my jacket. To perfect that _happy couple_ image."

Angelina had a few thoughts about that that she didn't want to contemplate any further, at least not in front of George.

"Sure," she said in the most normal voice she could manage, and took the jacket from him to try it on. George was broader in the shoulder than her, but he wasn't much taller, and the jacket fit her fairly well. 

"What do you think?"

He stared at her for a moment, a look on his face that Angelina couldn't quite read. But then the moment was over, and his grin was back in place. It didn't quite reach his eyes this time.

"Like I said, amazingly horrible."

***

According to the invitation, the guests were supposed to arrive at six o'clock on Sunday. Angelina and George spent a good while arguing over breakfast whether it was ruder to be very early or very late. Ultimately, however, they decided they'd Floo to the Burrow on time. Wanting to irk Muriel wasn't really worth being a pain in the arse for everyone else involved.

Angelina was more nervous than she had expected. It wasn't like her to be nervous, she wasn't used to it, and it wasn't like she had an actual reason to feel this way. She knew half the Weasleys already, as well Harry and Hermione, having spent years with them at Hogwarts. It wasn't like she was a complete stranger.

"You okay?" George asked her ten minutes to six.

"Yeah, just a little nervous," Angelina admitted, not looking at him, suddenly very busy putting on her ridiculous Muggle shoes.

George sat down next to her, a hand on her shoulder, and Angelina turned to look into his eyes.

"You're going to be great," he assured her sincerely. "Is it because of the clothes? You can still change, you know."

"No, it's not the clothes."

She took a deep breath. 

"I think I'm afraid of making you look bad. Which doesn't make any sense, I know. Half your family knows me already, for Merlin's sake."

She shook her head at herself. George was staring at her in shock.

"How could _you_ ever make _me_ look bad? You're the greatest person I know. Aside from Bertie Bott, of course."

"You know Bertie Bott?"

"Merlin, I really need to work on my jokes. I think I'm out of practice... You're still worrying you're going to make me look bad? I'm going to make myself look bad, at this rate."

His sarcasm earned him a small smile from Angelina before George turned serious again.

"Believe me, after the year I've had, my family wouldn't mind me showing up with a House Elf. Bet going there with a gorgeous and brilliant witch who also happens to be one of the best Quidditch players in the country will take them by surprise, to say the least."

Angelina couldn't help but smile.

"You're right, I am pretty awesome."

He smiled back at her.

"That's more like it. Come on."

He stood up and offered her his hand, and Angelina took it without a second thought. 

***

George went into the fireplace first. The only one he'd told that Angelina would be coming with him was Ginny, the rest of the family just knew that George was bringing a guest. He had said—and Angelina had wholeheartedly agreed with him—that the whole effort just in order to shock _one_ family member really wasn't justifyable.

Of course, that didn't apply to Ginny. According to George, she wouldn't be shocked anyway, and he thought it would be much more fun to have someone be in on the joke.

After George vanished in the fire, Angelina used a bit of Floo Powder and stepped into the flames. 

"The Burrow."

She didn't have a lot of time to contemplate what was about to happen next. After what felt like no time at all, she found herself in an unfamiliar fireplace, George giving her his hand to help her out of it.

Angelina looked around, expecting a room full of Weasleys, but the room was empty except for Ginny, who was watching the two of them with great interest.

"You weren't kidding when you said you wanted to offend Muriel."

George looked at her earnestly.

"I'm never kidding."

Ginny looked at him for a moment, then nearly threw him off his feet when she hugged him.

"Merlin's pants, I missed you," she mumbled, and Angelina didn't know if she was supposed to look away. The moment felt much too personal for her to be in it. George had told her that since Ginny was using her Hogsmeade days to meet Harry, he hadn't seen his sister since Christmas.

To Angelina's surpise, Ginny hugged her next.

"Thanks for taking care of him."

"You make me sound like a nanny."

Ginny grinned.

"If that's how you want to see yourself."

She winked at Angelina, then started walking towards the door, beckoning them to follow her.

"Okay, so, for your grand entrance. Ron's still upstairs but he and Harry should be here any minute. Angelina, maybe your jacket should be off when Muriel first sees you."

Angelina shrugged off her jacket and Ginny stared openly.

"Or maybe you should keep it on. Can't have Muriel dying on Ron and Hermione's big day."

George started to smile and now Ginny stared at him, this time visibly emotional. Angelina realised belatedly that Ginny hadn't seen him smile in almost a year. Again, she felt like she was intruding into a private moment.

"Anyway," Ginny continued, a slight catch in her voice, "The others should all be outside. You ready?"

The last two words were adressed to George, Ginny's voice quieter than usual. There was a moment of silence afterwards; and it seemed to Angelina that the question was more meaningful than it sounded. George's eyes met hers before he answered, and Angelina looked back steadily. She would support him no matter what his answer was, there could be no question about that. 

George took her hand, then turned back to Ginny.

"Ready."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I put Angelina in the most horrible 90s outfit I could come up with. But I like to think that she somehow managed to pull it off flawlessly. She's wearing [this pink top](http://www.mtv.co.uk/sites/default/files/styles/vimn_image_embed/public/mtv_uk/articles/2014/07/31/15-ways-look-like-destinys-child-embed-650.jpg?itok=NG13sz0K), [a white skirt similar to this one](http://www.polyvore.com/cgi/img-thing?.out=jpg&size=l&tid=179390982) and [these shoes](http://picture-cdn.wheretoget.it/8v5nfg-i.jpg).


	25. Speech

When Angelina stepped out into the garden, her hand safely in George's, her first thought was that somehow, she had not expected this. She wasn't sure what exactly she had been expecting, but it wasn't this. Lanterns were floating over the large table, softly illuminating the scene in different colours. The sun was hanging low in the sky, not quite close to setting yet. The trees were adorned with purple and gold streamers that made Angelina think of Hermione for some reason.

The only two people already sitting at the table were an incredibly old woman who Angelina took to be George's aunt Muriel, and a witch whom she instantly recognized from the Triwizard Tournament: Fleur Delacour, now Fleur Weasley. Bill was standing between his wife and Mrs. Weasley, apparently having an argument with his mother. Next, Angelina spotted Hermione standing next to Mr. Weasley, a few feet away from the others and engrossed in a very serious-looking conversation. An older woman Angelina didn't know was rocking a crying toddler with blue hair in her arms while she walked back and forth, accompanied by Percy, who looked just as pompous as he always had when he'd still been at Hogwarts and who was obviously talking about something only he found in any way interesting.

Since Charlie hadn't been able to get time off from his job on such short notice, only Harry and Ron were still missing. Angelina couldn't help but think of her days as Gryffindor Quidditch captain, and how Ron had used to struggle with his nerves. Was this something similar or was there another reason he wasn't here yet? Hermione didn't seem all too preoccupied though, and Angelina took that as a good sign.

"The table's new," George mused quietly, surveying the scene in much the same way she did. People began to notice George and Angelina when Ginny confidently strode out into the garden before them, and one by one, the conversations ceased. 

Angelina wasn't used to being stared at, at least not when she wasn't playing Quidditch. Suddenly she felt quite ridiculous in her Muggle clothes. Well, there was no going back now. Her grip on George's hand tightened involuntarily.

"It's going to be fine," he whispered into her ear, and Angelina knew him well enough to realise that he wasn't just saying it for her benefit. 

"Whatever happens," she whispered back, "I'm h—"

Angelina was interrupted as a sobbing Mrs. Weasley pulled George into a hug.

"Oh, Georgie!"

"George's here?"

The voice behind her was familiar. Of course Ron would show up in the least convenient moment. She turned around and saw Ron frozen in the doorway, watching George with wide eyes. Harry was standing next to him, the expression on his face perfectly mirroring her own: like he had not a single clue what he was supposed to do in this situation. His eyes met Angelina's and they kind of awkwardly nodded at each other in greeting.

Mrs. Weasley was still sobbing into George's shoulder.

On the whole, Angelina thought that meeting George's family could not have gone any more horribly.

"At least he found himself a girl," a loud voice cut through the awkward silence. "Can't imagine how he managed it. Does he pay her?"

Almost everybody turned towards Muriel with various expressions of shock on their faces while Mrs. Weasley's sobbing increased and Ginny tried to stifle her laughter. 

"Muriel, please!" The older woman Angelina didn't know sounded appalled.

"I'm just telling it like it is, Andromeda. That boy's not quite right in the head, bringing a Muggle here. Don't imagine any respectable girl would voluntarily spend her time with him."

Seeing the family's reaction, Angelina began to understand why Ginny was shaking with silent laughter, one of her hands covering her mouth to mask it. Ron was gaping, open-mouthed, from Angelina to Muriel and back, Mr. Weasley's ears had turned bright red, Hermione beside him looked like she couldn't decide between rolling her eyes and looking furious. Percy was looking at George, his expression carefully controlled, but Angelina would have sworn he was impressed.

"Eesn't she a Quidditch player?"

"Yes, she is," George intervened while pushing his mother away gently but firmly. "This is Angelina Johnson, Muriel, Chaser for the Appleby Arrows and my girlfriend. So no, I'm not paying her." 

He put one of his now free arms around Angelina's shoulder and the two of them shared a look. There was that expression in George's eyes again, the one that Angelina still couldn't quite place, was it longing? It was gone almost as soon as she'd noticed it, and in its stead she saw only fondness and the first traces of a mischievous grin. She couldn't help but grin back at him. This evening would definitely be interesting.

George's declaration put a stop to the awkward silence and Angelina spent the next few minutes being hugged by the people she already knew from Hogwarts and being introduced to the ones she didn't. Mrs. Weasley pulled her into a motherly hug as well, and for a moment, Angelina felt bad about pretending that she was in a relationship with George. It was obvious that his mother was relieved to know that George wasn't wasting away alone, that he was moving on with his life. Angelina hadn't really considered that she would be deceiving George's mother as well, a realisation that let shame well up inside her. Well, it was too late to change the story now.

Angelina was surprised to learn that the toddler was actually the son of the late Professor Lupin, Teddy, Harry's godson. She got the feeling that the Weasleys had adopted him and his grandmother into their family like they'd had Harry; Mrs. Weasley and Mrs. Tonks seemed to get on like a house on fire.

While Angelina was getting to know the family a bit better, everybody was hugging George, except for Muriel, who didn't even bother to get up. Angelina wondered if the others could see his carefully hidden discomfort as clearly as she could. Maybe they didn't want to see it. Maybe they weren't used to reading his emotions any more. She wanted nothing more than to take his hand again, but by now there were three people standing between them, and Bill was congratulating her on the Arrows' win against Pride of Portree six weeks ago, shaking her hand in his. 

After a while, Mrs. Weasley cleared her throat loudly.

"Now that we're all here, everyone should sit down. Ginny, help me fetch dinner."

It took a while for everybody to settle down. Angelina soon found herself sitting between George and Mrs. Weasley, the table in front of them now heavily laden with food. As soon as everyone was sitting, Ron stood up. Under the table, Angelina took George's hand. 

"Thank you all for coming. As you know, Hermione and I have been together for almost a year now, and today I want to tell you that to my great delight and honour, this wonderful, brilliant, amazing woman has agreed to marry me."

Ron and Hermione smiled at each other, and Angelina felt the skin of her hand tingle where George was touching her. She hoped to Merlin that George didn't notice anything. 

"Hermione, every moment I spend with you I am reminded why I want to go through life with you by my side, and every time I look at you I know that I love you." 

Angelina's cheeks were feeling very hot. Since when did Ron go around saying these kinds of things? She desperately tried not to think of George, which was rather difficult considering she was holding his hand. 

"Knowing that you feel the same has made me the happiest man alive."

Almost everybody cheered and clapped as Hermione stood up to kiss Ron. Angelina had never seen either of them so happy.

"To Hermione and Ron," Bill said as he raised his glass, and they all echoed him before drinking.

Mrs. Weasley was summoning an enormous cake from inside the house. Everyone began to eat dinner, and soon several conversations sprung up. Percy was apparently lecturing Bill and Fleur about the flaws in the laws concerning quill importation, while Andromeda and Harry tried to to convince Teddy, whose hair colour was changing rapidly, to eat his piece of meat pie. Ginny was quietly talking to George, and Muriel was complaining to Mr. Weasley about the way Minister Shacklebolt was running the country. Hermione and Ron seemed to be in a world of their own, grinning at each other in regular intervals.

"So, Angelina," Mrs. Weasley began, "how long have you and George been together?"

Angelina choked on her pumpkin juice and started coughing. For some reason, George and her had completely forgotten to make up a convincing story, they'd spent all their time trying to figure out how to enrage Muriel.

"Uh, a few weeks," Angelina improvised, trying to nudge George with her elbow inconspicuously in order to make him join the conversation. "It was, um, after the match against the Prides that he, well—"

"I was just so impressed with her flying that I had to ask her out."

Angelina tried to hide her relief.

"Didn't you see her fly in Quidditch practice every week for years?" Bill, who was sitting across from George, looked politely skeptical, and there was something else in his eyes: worry. He was worried about George. Angelina wanted to curse herself. How had they not planned for this?

"I guess I just never appreciated her back then," George retorted, and his eyes met Angelina's.

She could see that he too was afraid they wouldn't be able to talk themselves out of this one convincingly. It took Angelina a split-second to make her decision. They would sort out the mess later.

She put on her sweetest smile.

"No, you really didn't."

And she leaned over to kiss him.

She had fantasized about kissing him, sure, but none of her fantasies had involved half his family staring at them. Or both of them trying to make it look like they did that sort of thing all the time. Or her not being able to concentrate on the feeling of the kiss at all.

All of this had been a very, very bad idea.

When they broke apart, Angelina tried to smile once more, and she hoped to Merlin that nobody was looking too closely at her. George could certainly see that her smile didn't reach her eyes, but then again, his expression was not really convincing, either.

"Well, I'm so happy for the two of you," Mrs. Weasley said, apparently suspecting nothing.

Angelina was glad that the angle in which Mrs. Weasley was sitting made it hard for her to get a good look at her and George's expressions.

Angelina caught Ginny's eye. Ginny looked like she had just discovered the thirteenth use of dragon's blood, her eyes wandering from her face to George's in sudden understanding.

"You know," Mrs. Weasley continued in a somewhat subdued voice, making Angelina turn around to her, "I was worried about him, after everything that happened... But it's good to know that he's living his life, that he has someone."

Mrs. Weasley smiled sadly at her and patted her hand. Angelina had never felt so bad about a prank in her life.

***

Over an hour later, after they had all stopped eating and the first people had started to get up from the table, Ginny leaned towards Angelina.

"Angelina, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, Ginny, what's up?"

Ginny started walking away from the table and Angelina followed her to a spot between two trees, just out of earshot from everyone who was helping Mrs. Weasley carry the dishes back inside the house.

"You're in love with George, aren't you?"

"What? No, of course I'm not. You know that this is all an act."

Ginny rolled her eyes.

"Well, you're not a very good actress."

She looked over to her family, biting her lip. Mrs. Weasley was making the last neat row of dishes float from the table into the house. Harry was conjuring up colourful bubbles to the amusement of little Teddy who tried to catch them. Percy was talking to Hermione, and Mr. Weasley was saying something to George. George's face was turned away, so Angelina couldn't be quite sure, but judging by his posture, he seemed uncomfortable.

"I'm trying to look out for my brother," Ginny continued, suddenly much more serious. "I want to see him happy as much as you do. So please just tell me the truth."

Angelina sighed. Maybe it was finally time to tell someone.

"Yes," she whispered. "Yes, I love him."

She leaned against the tree next to her. The secret was out now. Well, it hadn't been much of secret to begin with, it seemed.

"And you haven't told him?"

Angelina almost laughed.

"What would I even say? _Sorry about your brother, but now that he's gone at least you can have me! Hope it's not weird that I was in love with him before he was brutally killed!_ " Tears were stinging in her eyes now, her lip was quivering. Ginny looked appalled at her choice of words for a moment but schooled her features quickly. Angelina remembered too late that he had also been _her_ brother. "No, I'm not going to tell him about my feelings. I'm going to get over them and that'll be that."

"Well, I think that's stupid."

"And how is that, pray tell?"

Ginny thought for a moment.

"You're not going to get over the past by letting it define your whole life. You won't let yourself be happy because you're afraid your happiness will insult Fred's memory somehow."

Angelina's breath hitched at the sound of his name. She had avoided it for almost a year now. To be confronted with it now—for some reason, it did not hurt as much as she thought it would, not as much as it should hurt. 

"And frankly, I think that's a load of dragon dung," Ginny continued. "You can be as unhappy as you want, that still won't bring him back."

Angelina stared at her, wanting to shake her. Didn't she understand? Suddenly Angelina remembered the talk she'd had with George a few days ago, about how his brother wouldn't want her to be unhappy. But this couldn't possibly be what George had been trying to say, could it?

"It doesn't have anything to do with—it's unhealthy and, and, wrong!"

Ginny shrugged rather nonchalantly.

"Yeah, probably."

Angelina was taken aback.

"You're not making any sense."

Ginny turned to look into her eyes.

"Yes, it's a bit weird. So what? Why should you care about that? It would make you happy, wouldn't it?"

"That's not—I don't think George even wants..."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, a smile on her lips.

"You don't think he loves you back? Oh Merlin. And I thought the two of you were spending lots of time together."

She shook her head, laughing. Angelina was genuinely confused.

"What are you trying to say?"

"Well, if he wasn't so preoccupied, I'd be willing to bet a few Galleons that even Ron could see the way George looks at you. And that's saying something."


	26. Truth

The sun had already set when they went back into the house, Angelina deep in thought about everything Ginny had said. What if she was right? What if she were to put her own happiness first, the past be damned? What if George actually was in l—?

Angelina's thoughts were disrupted by a smiling Mr. Weasley offering her a glass of firewhiskey. She declined as politely as possible, wanting to keep a clear head.

The living room seemed to be full of happy people, and Angelina had the feeling that she did not quite fit in. She could see George on the other side of the room, looking profoundly uncomfortable now. His mother was talking to him. George caught Angelina's eye and from the look on his face Angelina had a pretty good idea who the subject of their discussion was.

"Oh hey, Angelina." Harry was carrying Teddy in his arms. The toddler seemed close to falling asleep, his hair now bright yellow, and his nose somewhat flatter than before. "You know, it's really nice to see you."

He smiled at her, and Angelina couldn't help but think that he seemed much more mature now than when she'd last seen him. 

"You too, Harry. So you're a godfather now, huh?"

Harry looked fondly at Teddy.

"Have been for almost a year now. He's turning one next week."

Out of the corner of her eye, Angelina could see George leaving the room. Maybe she should go after him. Then again, maybe it was better to give him some space. Considering what Ginny had said, Angelina thought it wouldn't be easy pretending in front of George that everything was normal.

"Oh, that's great!" she said with a bit too much fake enthusiasm.

"I admire you, you know, pulling this whole thing off just to get on Muriel's nerves."

"Ginny told you?"

He laughed.

"Ah, of course she would be in on it. No, she didn't tell me. But she _did_ tell me that she mentioned Muriel's comments to George, and knowing George it's not exactly hard to figure out where he's going with pink robes and a "girlfriend" dressed like a Muggle."

Angelina looked at Harry. She had never known him to be particularly perceptive, but maybe now that his life wasn't in imminent danger constantly he was free to notice the world around him. Or maybe it was the Auror training.

"You think it's working?"

Harry looked over at Muriel who was sitting in an armchair, watching Bill and Fleur disapprovingly.

"Hard to say with her. She wrote Fred and George out of her will years ago, so it's possible she doesn't care much at all about what George does nowadays."

Again, the name. Again, it didn't hurt as much as it should have.

"She wrote them out of her will? Why?"

Harry grinned.

"Dungbombs, I think. Classic."

Angelina shook her head, smiling fondly despite the stinging sensation inside her stomach. Yes, that sounded like the twins, alright.

"Has she written anyone else out?"

"Not to my knowledge. Ginny thought about trying to provoke her into it by faking a premarital pregnancy, but we figured that it wasn't worth putting her mother through all that."

"I still think it would have been hilarious."

Ginny appeared next to Harry, two glasses of firewhiskey in her hands, one of which she handed to him.

"Angelina, George's outside, I think maybe you should talk to him."

She gave her a meaningful look and Angelina nodded. Well, she couldn't put off talking to George forever.

"Okay. Thanks, Ginny."

***

Angelina found George in a part of the garden that wasn't quite reached by the soft light of the lanterns, sitting with his back to the house.

"Hey," she said, "mind if I join you?"

He turned around, and even in the semi-darkness Angelina could see the anger in his eyes.

"Sure, go ahead."

She settled down next to him.

"This is the exact reason why I didn't want to see my family," George began without much of a preamble. "The way they're looking at me... Like they're glad they've still got one of us left." 

Angelina didn't know what to say. There was no point denying it, they both knew he was right. 

"I hate it. I hate the pity in their eyes, I hate that they're secretly glad they'll never know how it feels..." 

Angelina put an arm around his shoulder. 

"Maybe it just takes time," she said quietly. 

"How much time? How long do I have to wait until I can spend time with my family again without wanting to shout at them? Wanting to pull out my wand and hex the pity off of their faces?"

He was shaking with anger. 

"We can go home if you want." 

George took a deep breath, trying to calm himself.

"I don't know what I want any more. Give me a few minutes." 

She nodded.

"Okay."

They sat there for a bit, each pondering their own thoughts. Angelina was painfully aware of their close proximity, of George's breathing, his scent, the small movements of his body. She thought about what Ginny had said, about putting the memory of the past before her own happiness.

And she made her decision.

"About what happened before," she said quietly, "I was, um—"

"Do you really want to talk about this now?"

"Yes," she said firmly. "Yes, I want to talk about this now, because if I don't I'm never going to do it." She took a deep breath. "I'm sorry I kissed you like that, that wasn't part of our deal. But I'm also not sorry."

She waited for George to say something, but he didn't respond.

"I've—I've been wanting to kiss you for a while, actually. Not necessarily in front of your entire family, but... Yeah."

Angelina wasn't quite sure where to go from there. She wondered if she should have phrased it differently, to her own ears her statement sounded kind of lacklustre.

"You picked a great time to tell me," George mumbled.

"I know. Blame Ginny." 

George turned to look at her.

"What's Ginny got to do with this?" He sounded more surprised than upset now.

"She talked to me. Told me to place my own happiness above the memory of the past. Or something like that."

George shook his head, rolling his eyes half-heartedly.

"Typical."

There was a short pause before he continued talking.

"She said something similar to me at dinner. Then you kissed me."

He looked like he wanted to laugh. He looked like he wanted to cry. Angelina's own emotions were no less confusing, now that she had told him about her feelings. Well, alluded to her feelings. But maybe that had been enough to destroy their friendship. Maybe Ginny was wrong. Maybe this had been a mistake.

"You shouldn't be with me. You deserve someone who is... happy, and whole, and not a complete mess."

Angelina needed a moment to understand what he was saying. When she did, she felt hot and cold all at once, like a Disillusionment Charm gone horrible wrong.

She didn't even know where to start.

"But—such a person could never—you know that my reasons for spending time with you are entirely selfish, right? Because you understand me, you don't judge me, I can talk to you about—things that nobody who's _happy and whole_ has ever experienced! Because half the time I don't even need to explain myself, I just look at you and you get it!"

Her voice had become louder, and Angelina took a breath to calm herself down. It didn't work very well. How could he not _understand_? 

"And I don't want somebody else, I want _you_ , I love _you_ , Merlin, every time I look at you I just—"

She couldn't go on. She felt close to tears again. Her words seemed too empty, unable to capture her true feelings. 

And George leaned over to kiss her.

Their lips brushed gently for a moment, before Angelina grabbed the back of George's head and kissed him in earnest. She had always been better at doing things than at making pretty speeches, and she tried to show him all the feelings she couldn't put into adequate words, tried to show him how desperately she loved him, how much she needed him. And George responded in kind, his tongue playing with hers, one of his hands on the part of her back that her ridiculous top left exposed. He bit her bottom lip and she sighed into the sensation, desperate for more.

"You think your family will mind if we Disapparate without saying goodbye?"

Angelina didn't wait for his answer before kissing him again, if she had learned anything it was that you never had all the time in the world, and she would not waste even a second now.

"Who cares? Come on."


	27. Epilogue

The next morning, Angelina woke up in George's arms yet again. It was strange how familiar and yet how different it felt at the same time. If she adjusted her position a little, maybe she would be able to watch him sleep—her train of thought was interrupted when George opened his eyes.

"Hi."

She grinned at him and he smiled back.

"Hi."

She kissed him, just because she could now, and she could feel her heart beat fast at the realisation that from now on, she could kiss him whenever she wanted, no need to hold back.

***

"I've been wondering about something," George said a while later as Angelina was filling a glas with water. She was always so hoarse after screaming. "How long have you been in love with me?"

Angelina emptied the glas slowly.

"I'm not sure. I only just realised it that day on the Quidditch pitch, when you kissed me on the forehead like that... It's why I ran away. I couldn't deal with it."

"Because of him?"

She took one of his hands and intertwined her fingers with his.

"Yeah. I thought it was unhealthy and disrespectful... And maybe it is. But Ginny's probably right, I can't spend my whole life letting the memory of him prevent me from doing what I want. Or who I want."

Angelina winked at him, and George grinned.

He gave her a kiss, then his expression turned serious again.

"It's not going to be easy, with me... Being like I am now. You sure you want this?"

She looked into his eyes.

"Yes. I'm sure. I love you the way you are."

"I love you, too."

He kissed her again, and Angelina was glad that it was so different with George, that what they had together was not at all like what she'd had with his brother. Everything would be much more complicated if it were.

"So, how long have you been in love with me?"

He smiled fondly.

"Three years."

" _What?_ "

George shrugged.

"Well, it was just a crush at first. He always talked about how amazing you were, and I couldn't help but start seeing you through his eyes, if you will."

Angelina stared at him. 

"And here, I was worried that _my_ feelings were unhealthy."

"If it makes you feel any better, it was never more than a crush until a month ago."

So many things had happened a month ago.

"You'll have to be more specific."

"Have I ever told you that you're too curious for your own good?"

She rolled her eyes.

"Come on, I answered your question!"

"Good point." He sighed dramatically. "That time you first spent the night here. I woke up with you in my arms and I just thought, it should be like that every day."

"So, naturally, you got up as fast as you could and pretended you had to go to work."

He stared at her.

"You haven't been practicing Legilimency on me, have you?"

She laughed.

"No, that's just what I would have done. What I did, actually."

George raised his eyebrows.

"What you did was come up with the worst excuse ever. You ate something funny? We had all our meals together that day!"

"Oh shut up."

"You're only saying that because I'm rig—"

She kissed him before he could finish his sentence. 

***

Some time later, Angelina was lying in George's arms again.

"You think it's bad that I still can't say his name?"

George looked at her.

"Have you seen the mirrors in this place?"

A smile tugged at Angelina's lips.

"We'll work on all of that, right?"

"Definitely."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still can't quite believe I managed to write this whole thing. Usually, I abandon all my drafts of longer stories after writing a few pages... I'm actually really proud of myself for finishing this one!
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who left kudos and/or comments, every one of those made me happy! :)


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